


You Don't Know the Halfa It

by DeiRyuu



Series: You Don't Know The Halfa It [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Danny Phantom Setting, F/F, F/M, Gen, Ghosts, Jean is a punk, M/M, Marco is a halfa, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-08-23
Packaged: 2018-02-05 14:18:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 69,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1821502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeiRyuu/pseuds/DeiRyuu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco's dealt with ghosts all his life. It came with being the son of paranormal investigators living in the most haunted city in the country. The last thing he'd expected, however, was to become one himself.</p><p>Or half one at least.</p><p>Now he must learn to how to control his newfound powers while discovering that there may be more to Trost's hauntings than meets the eye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Phantom of the Trost-pera

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fanfic I've written in a long time, but I've been playing around with this idea for a while now and got enough plot bunnies together to work out a full story.
> 
> Check out my tumblr: dei-ryuu for my artwork based on this AU, which is all under the tag fic:halfa.

It was a stupid idea, he’d realized that as soon as it came into motion, but it was too late to back out now. Not when he held the relic in his hands.

Well, relic was a strong term for a locket that didn’t even appear all that old, but that was the term everyone kept using. They had dug it out of an old warehouse, saying it had some sort of spiritual aura, possibly a cherished item of someone long past that had captured a piece of their soul during death. He couldn’t see anything special about it, turning the piece of jewelry over in his hands. It was fairly ordinary, a standard circular shape made of a white gold with intricate embossed symbols on it.

He took a second to gently trace over the markings, then moved to open it. The latch popped open with a click, almost without any effort on his part, revealing a shard of crystal embedded on the inside.

He bit his lip, carefully brushing his fingers against the crystal. He shouldn’t be doing this, they had sent him down to look for tools, not mess around with the supernatural artifacts, but what harm could a tiny peak do? Maybe a fresh gaze would uncover something they hadn’t caught before, something to help them out with their research.

He ran his fingers across the cool mineral, feeling the uneven planes of its surface. Caught in the overhead lights, it glistening so brightly that it was almost glowing.

Actually it _was_ glowing, he realized as light began to pool under his fingertips. He yelped in surprise, throwing the locket from his grip as though it had burned him.

The small item dropped rapidly to the ground before the descent came to a sudden halt. The chain began to move, undulating like waves in the ocean as the light shifted to cover the whole locket in its eerie glow. It hovered near the floor for a few seconds before floating to the center of the room, now eye level with the boy who stood frozen in place.

The locket began to spin, eventually becoming a glowing ball of energy as it picked up velocity. The glow continued to intensify and the spectral energy began to affect the other items in the room. Furniture rattled in place, items fell off shelves, and electronics ran haywire, shooting out sparks.

The boy was startled back into action when a stray bolt of electricity struck near his feet. He looked around frantically, dodging as the contents of a nearby shelf nearly collapsed onto his head. It was like the room had been sucked into a vortex. He had to do something to stop this. Eyes darted around, searching for a solution, and his gaze fell to the source of the chaos, the spinning globe of energy.

He grit his teeth and braced himself, lunging forward. His hand reached out into the sphere just as he felt the electricity strike him. He cried out in pain, the jolt causing his fingers to shut around the locket in the center.

Everything went black. 

* * *

 “Marco! Marcomarcomarcomarco,” a rough voice shouted as its owner came bounding through the crowded school hallway, ignoring the protests of students that he brushed aside in his hurry. He slid around the corner to where he knew his target would be, spotting his friend in one of his usual sweaters as he rummaged around in his locker.

He called the brunet’s name again as he rushed towards him, eager to relay an important message. Marco glanced up, eyes widening behind glasses at the sight of two-toned hair and ripped denim charging at him full speed before screwing his eyes shut and bracing for impact. Thankfully the other managed to stop himself in time, his boots leaving skid marks in his wake.

He’d stopped a little too late though, nearly face-to-face with his freckled friend. Marco, realizing the impending crash had not occurred, slowly opened his eyes and was met with a honey gaze. With a startled cry he jumped back into the lockers, his form disappearing for a split second before snapping back to visibility.

“Jean! You nearly gave me a heart-attack!” he whined over the barking laughter of the cause of his momentary crisis, cheeks dusted red.

“You’re gonna get caught if you keep doing that,” Jean quipped, an amused smirk alighting his features at his friend’s distress. No one besides the two of them had seemed to notice though.

The freckled teen sighed heavily, fixing his glasses where they’d fallen askew. “I can’t help it. I haven’t gotten used to it yet and I lose control sometimes.” After all, a few weeks was hardly enough time to adjust to anything majorly life-changing, especially when that something was of supernatural origins.

He just _had_ to be the son of paranormal investigators.

Satisfied with his adjustments, Marco tilted his head down to stare at his shorter friend over the top of his glasses, ignoring how his vision went fuzzy in his right eye. “And I told you to stop scaring me like that. You know that triggers it.”

Jean scoffed, rolling his eyes. “No one’s watching us. And that wasn’t even on purpose, I was-“ He cut himself off, shoving a hand into one of his pockets. He fished out a rumpled sheet of paper and hastily presented it to the other boy, all but shoving it into Marco’s face.

The brunet unfolded the paper with a raised eyebrow. It was the front page of the local newspaper, the ‘Trost Times’. There was a blurry photograph of a moving subject, but he could make out white hair, a few flecks of purple, and a blue and black outfit that he could recognize anywhere.

Marco swallowed nervously.

Attached to that was a rather lengthy article and he found himself frightened at what the press had to say. He did however note, with a mental face-palm, the header: _‘Phantom of the Trost-pera? New ghost may suggest a shift of paranormal activity’._

“Most of the article is just the writers bullshitting around and making wild assumptions,” Marco frowned. That wasn’t the most reassuring thing in the world. “but the point is you’re starting to make a name for yourself around here.”

“Yeah, but is that the name they had to choose?” Honestly, _Trost-pera?_ They couldn’t think of anything better than that?

That got a snort out of Jean, and he brushed a hand along the shorter hairs of his undercut. “It’s cause you got that… uh… that whole thing going on there…” he trailed off, gesturing vaguely to the right side of his face.

Marco mouthed an ‘oh’. Though it wasn’t visible now, the accident he’d gotten into hadn’t left him unscarred.

“Maybe I should start wearing the mask and call myself Erik,” he joked, trying to hide his self-consciousness. It didn’t fool Jean, but he chose to let it pass, opting instead to stare at Marco with a blank expression.

“He has a name? I thought it was just ‘The Phantom’.” Air quotes were added to this for emphasis.

The brunet smiled. “You get to be my Christine.”

He frowned, traces of a blush dusting his cheeks. “That’s the love interest, isn’t it?”

“Yes Jean, she’s the love interest.”

He coughed awkwardly into his hand and looked away, Marco laughing as he tossed the newspaper in his locker to check out later and retrieved the rest of his books.

“C’mon, we’re gonna be late,” Jean muttered gruffly, tugging Marco away by the sleeve of his maroon sweater.

“Since when do you care about being on time?” he chuckled, barely managing to slam his locker shut before he was led away.

“Just move it, Trost-pera.”

* * *

Jean accompanied him as far as his first class, despite his protests that he did not require an escort, before they were forced to part ways and he had to head off to his own. Or at least Marco _hoped_ he was actually heading to his class. Jean had a penchant for skipping out on classes he didn’t care for, and political science fell into that category.

Marco sighed to himself, settling in his usual spot at the front of the class as they waited for the teacher to show. School had been a bit of an ordeal ever since his accident down at the labs. Even with the aid of glasses, his deteriorated eyesight forced him to sit towards the front of classrooms, where the teachers paid infinitely more attention to him. Normally, this wouldn’t be an issue, but his ghost escapades kept him up late and the teen often found himself struggling to keep his eyes open. He’d also gained a reputation for being unusually clumsy. Intangibility was truly a terrible nervous reaction to have when you get startled easily. Thankfully people tended to blame it on his eyesight, but he wasn’t fond of dropping things constantly and tripping over his own feet.

Jean helped as much as he could, but given that Marco was a year older, they didn’t share any classes. He had a few other friends he did share classes with, but none he was overly close with. Marco was likeable enough, but the natives of Trost were extremely superstitious and generally wary of people who willing sought out the supernatural, which was exactly what Marco’s parents did, so they were friendly enough, but didn’t try to get too close.

Jean’s friends, a quirky duo by the names of Sasha and Connie, were far more open, and had readily adopted Marco into their odd little clique when he’d started getting close to the punkish boy. He didn’t get to see them often, since they were Jean’s age and lived in the opposite direction of the two boys, but he enjoyed their company when they were around.

Both were also blissfully unaware of Marco’s situation. As much as he loved the two of them, he just wasn’t as comfortable divulging that information. Thankfully this semester they’d been placed in a different lunch period (though unfortunate since he had less chances to see his other friends), leaving him alone with the one person who shared his secret during the only time they saw one another in school aside from hallway breaks.

They ate lunch outside, where eavesdroppers wouldn’t be an issue and Marco could relax a little in regards to his powers. They were still in a public setting, but he wasn’t as concerned if he was in a one-on-one situation with his best friend.

“So,” Jean had started, taking a large bite out of his sandwich. Mayo dripped obnoxiously from the sides and Marco watched with a slight wrinkle of his nose. “How’re you handling your newfound fame?” He spoke around the chunk of food currently in his mouth.

He frowned. What was he going on about- oh wait, the newspaper.

“A blurry photograph and a stupid name don’t exactly make me a celebrity, Jean.”

“Eh, close enough,” he said, swallowing. “Just wait, though. You’re gonna have to dodge screaming fangirls soon if this isn’t a one-off thing.”

The brunet shook his head, taking a bite out of an apple. Where did he get these ideas from? “Wouldn’t that be necrophilia?” he added, thinking on it a little longer. “I mean, nobody’s heard of halfas before, so as far as they know I’m all ghost.”

Halfa; that was the term he discovered they used for his kind in the ghost community. Half human, half ghost. It was like his body was his own weird, personal limbo and he understood it about as much as he could control the powers that came along with the title.

Jean shrugged with an uttered ‘If you’re into that, you’re into that’, taking another chunk out of his lunch.

This caused Marco to quirk an eyebrow. “Are _you_ into that?”

The blond did a spit-take. “No! Of course not!” he snapped, looking utterly scandalized at the mere insinuation. Marco stifled a giggle.

“Anyway, were you planning on heading out tonight?” he grunted, effectively drawing the topic back to the freckled half-ghost.

Marco thought on it briefly before nodding. “I think so. Mom and Dad are going to be in the labs all night and I desperately need the practice.” Night was the only time he could go out and train his abilities. Less prying eyes to worry about (Again, Trost was highly superstitious and people didn’t like being outside at night because of the ghosts).

Jean was watching him with a sort of contemplative look as though seeking some sort of answer in his eyes, or maybe in his freckles. “I’m going with you this time,” he eventually said.

His companion blinked. “Really? I’m not doing anything exciting.”

He nodded. “I wanna see you in action. Plus it’ll get me away from my mom’s nagging. She’s been on about how my clothes make me look like a thug again.”

“You do look like a thug.”

“Don’t agree with her!” Jean whined, burying his face in his hands. “I know she means well, but you don’t understand how overbearing she gets.” Marco snorted lightly at this. Ignoring the fact that the two boys had been friends for years and practically lived in each other’s apartments, his mom was _Italian_. He knew a thing or two about overbearing mothers.

“So, if I’m with you, I don’t have to deal with that,” he continued. “I’ll just tell her I’m saving poor wittle Marco from being all alone in that big scawy apartment of his.” He reached over to pat ‘wittle Marco’ on the head, sufficiently mussing up his parted bangs.

“I’m a year older than you,” he grumbled, fixing his hair.

“Besides, I… uh, had something to give you anyway…” This was practically mumbled, but Marco heard it anyway and perked up a little.

“Really? What is it?”

Jean grinned. “Surprise. You’ll find out tonight.” The older teen pouted, giving him the puppy eyes, but Jean wasn’t budging on this.

The two moved to idle conversation after that as they finished up their lunches, parting ways when the bell rang to signal the next transition. Marco entered his next class with just a little more energy than before, thoughts swimming with just what kind of surprise was awaiting him afterschool.


	2. Late Night Fright

When Marco arrived home that afternoon, the apartment was already empty. He’d known his parents were putting in a lot of hours at Sina Laboratories today, but he expected to have at least an _hour_ with them before they were whisked away to the realm of ghost research. He let out a sigh, tossing his book bag into his room as he went about the usual home-alone routine.

In the kitchen was a note with the usual list of things to know and safety tips they left for him when they were going to be out late, as well as enough food to feed a small army. His parents were betting on the fact that Jean would be over to keep him company regardless of whether he was invited or not, because there was no way Marco was getting through any of that on his own.

As though on command, Marco registered the sound of the front door being opened and shut as Jean invited himself across the threshold. The two boys visited each other so often that they had been given spare keys to make things easier, though Marco still preferred to knock rather than let himself in. They had walked home together as per usual, but split off at the stairwell so Jean could drop in and grab Marco’s present.

“Yo, Marco! Where are you?” he called out, his loud voice echoing throughout the empty apartment.

“I’m in the kitchen,” came the response, far quieter as he finished skimming over the note. It never said anything different.

A messy mop of sandy hair appeared as Jean poked his head into the doorway. “Did you make me a sandwich?” he asked, dodging the rumbled leaf of paper Marco threw at him.

“I think my mom has us covered,” he mused, gesturing over to the spread adorning the kitchen table.

“No kidding! She doesn’t fuck around when it comes to food.”

“Of course. _”_ Marco smiled as he walked over. “Come on, we can worry about dinner later. I want to see this surprise!”

Jean laughed. “So impatient! Alright, the sooner the better anyway.” He went over to where he had tossed his book bag against the wall while Marco settled down on the sofa. He fished out a piece of cloth that had been rolled up to protect from wrinkling and unfurled it like a banner, presenting it to the other boy.

Marco looked on with interest. It appeared to be a grey shield adorned by a pair of stylized wings of different colors, a white one overlaying a black.

“Did you design this? It looks so cool!” Jean gave a flushed nod, pleased with the compliment. “What is it?”

“It’s your new insignia!” he announced proudly. “You can’t really go flying around with the lab’s logo on your back, people’ll get suspicious. Especially if the press catches you again.”

“So you made me a new one!” Marco beamed. Jean was a bit private about his artwork, regardless of how good everyone told him he was. He was willing to let Marco go through his sketch book on occasion when he needed a second opinion, but he usually kept it to himself. The mere fact that he had designed something that he intended for him to wear in public was a huge honor.

“Alright, now hurry up and transform so I can put this on.”

Marco snapped to attention as though it had just occurred to him that some action on his part was required to bring about his ghost half. He stood, trying to ignore how Jean’s eyes fixated on him, and let out deep breath. His eyes slid shut and he focused, pulling at the strange force that dwelled within him. It gathered and pooled at his center until Marco released it in a quick burst, manifesting as a ring of light around his waist.

Although Jean had seen this before, he still watched with awe as the ring became two rings, one moving towards his feet, the other up over his head, flickering out of existence once they’d passed his body, transforming it in their wake.

Marco’s ghost half was definitely a sight to see. His dark hair turned a vivid, snowy white and his eyes a glowing purple. Even his freckles seemed to glisten with a slight violet gleam, what was left of them anyway. A huge flesh wound marred nearly the entirety of the right side of his face with scar tissue and his eye, while purple like its twin, was also grayed and dull, the pupil so faded it couldn’t be seen underneath the faint glow. Marco was very self-conscious about it, immediately turning his damaged side away from Jean.

He was dressed in black and blue; a deep blue jacket and knee-high boots and belts of a lighter shade and everything else, shirt, pants and gloves, pitch black. It was a version of the uniform given to those that worked for Sina Labs. Since it was required if you did any official work there, employed or not, Marco had been wearing it when the accident happened. The normal uniform was brown and white, but whatever had changed the color of his hair and eyes also did a number on his clothing.

He shrugged off the jacket, taking a moment to admire Sina’s logo, a banner with a minimalistic portrait of the lab’s namesake, the queen who ruled the area during medieval times. He handed the article of clothing over to Jean, whose gaze fell to Marco’s right arm as he did, faltering in his movements.

He bit his lip, quickly hiding his arm behind his back. Since the jacket was long-sleeved, he tended to forget that the scars on his face weren’t the only ones. A series of vein-like scars spanned his torso and arm on the right where he'd gotten the worst of the electrocution. His short-sleeved shirt hid the worst of it, but Jean had still seen the branches that went down his upper arm, though he pretended not to for Marco’s sake, quickly going for his backpack and pulling out a bag of supplies.

He plopped down in the center of the couch, Marco taking a seat beside him, specifically to the right where he could hide everything. He watched as Jean went to work threading a needle with a blue thread that matched his jacket, which was spread out on his lap, the new insignia overlaying Sina’s.

Assuring him that chatter would not disturb his work, the two lulled into conversation about the rest of their respective days after they’d been forced to part. Jean told him about how Sasha had gotten detention for bringing food into the chemistry lab. Again. This was her, what, fifth offense and they were barely a month into the semester? Marco’s day was far less exciting, the only notable highlight being when Millius accidentally launched his pen across the room and nearly beamed their teacher in the back of the head.

Marco watched Jean sew as they talked, following the rhythmic flow of his hands as he carefully attached his design to the jacket. Marco’s chin fell to his hands and his elbows rested on his knees, a content, if not dopey, smile spreading to his lips.

Jean, having finally seemed to realize he had a very captive audience, glanced over to the halfa. “Can I help you?”

He snapped out of his daze. “S-sorry! I just…” he paused, taking a moment to rub at his nose. “I really like watching you do artistic stuff. You always look so at peace.”

Jean gave a noncommittal grunt, blush alighting his features as he turned back to his work. He was about halfway done, thread just passing over the bottom tip of the shield. Marco pushed up from the couch, offering to grab them something to munch on out of the kitchen, and returned with a plate of dinner rolls. Jean paused long enough to pop one in his mouth whole and went back to work.

Marco chuckled, nibbling on a roll of his own. If Sasha were there, the whole plate would probably be gone by now, but Jean was just too engrossed in the craft to be bothered with food at the moment.

Marco really did love watching his creative side, it was something not a lot of people knew about him. Everyone at school saw Jean as the bad boy who probably ran along the back alleys with some gang and hung out with the weird kids to throw off suspicion. Few knew him as the dork who wanted to go into design as a career, who was self-taught in several creative mediums and watched cheesy science fiction movies for inspiration.

He continued to watch with interest, giggling quietly every time Jean would curse when he pricked one of his fingers on the needle. Sewing was not one of his more proficient skills. He was on the second bread roll by now; Jean was still working the one he’d attempted to inhale and it comically made his cheek puff out like a chipmunk. Marco resisted the urge to poke it, afraid he might cause his friend to choke or stab himself again.

“Done!” Jean announced after a little while, holding up the jacket to do a final once-over of his stitching. Satisfied, he returned it to Marco, urging the halfa to put it on. He slipped his arms into the sleeves and adjusted the collar, feeling better now that his jacket was back on.

“How does it look?” he asked, twisting so he was faced away from Jean.

“Awesome!” Jean blurted, eyes wide. The natural glow that surrounded the halfa’s body reclaimed the jacket and its new emblem, giving a sort of fluorescent glow to the two wings that almost made them appear to pop out of the fabric. Marco attempted to twist around to look, but his body didn’t quite bend in that manner.

“I did have a question though,” he said as he gave up on trying to contort his spine. “Why wings?”

Jean gave a shrug, turning his attentions to the food in front of him. “It just came to me one day and somehow wings seemed to suit you so I stuck with it.” And Jean was glad he did. Alongside his white hair and glow, those wings on his back made him look almost angelic. It was a nice look for the freckled teen, he mused. Maybe they could convince the press that Marco was an angel instead of a ghost, that ought to make for some interesting headlines.

The halfa hummed thoughtfully. He wasn’t sure if he quite understood, but he liked the design and it didn’t connect him to Sina, so that was all that really mattered. He glanced over to the window, where the sun hung low and the first hints of twilight were beginning to peak through. Had it really been that long already?

“Come on, let’s started on all that food in there,” Marco said as he shifted back into his human form. “By the time we’re done it’ll be dark enough to go out.”

* * *

 They had barely gotten through half of the virtual _feast_ Marco’s mother had left behind before both boys decided they’d burst if they took another bite. Marco put the uneaten food away (He left a note out saying that leftovers were in the tupperware in the fridge) and Jean 'helped' him clean up the kitchen. By the end of the war of the soap suds that had broken out they had to clean more than just dishes and decided to lounge in front of the television while their slightly damp clothes dried instead of braving the cool night air right away. Just as Marco predicted, the sun had long since set by the time they were ready and the two quietly slipped out of the apartment and into the dark streets of Trost.

The city was a far different place at night. For a literal ‘ghost town’, it definitely lived up to the figurative interpretation after sunset. The few people who were out all seemed to be in a hurry and didn’t spare more than a passing glance to the two high schoolers running about like they owned the place. Marco always went to the park when he was training; it was within walking distance and had open areas obscured by trees where spectators wouldn’t be an issue.

Marco led them to one such clearing, transforming once he was absolutely sure that no one else was around. He shoved off the ground, hanging effortlessly in thin air, and floated lazily above Jean’s head. His glow lit up the small area in a pale light.

“Alright Trost-pera, let’s see what ya got,” Jean said with a smirk, crossing his arms.

“ _Please_ don’t call me that,” he frowned. He was going to get a lot of grief from that bad bit of publicity, he could tell already tell.

“Show me something and I’ll think about it.” Which basically meant ‘no’, but Marco was there to practice regardless so it didn’t matter either way.

Marco’s powers were pretty standard for a ghost; his personal gravity was under his own control, he could disappear from sight and walk through solid objects, so that was what he was going to focus on. Since he was already airborne, he started off with a few aerial maneuvers, flying tight circles around Jean, who tried to shove him away.

Marco laughed and turned intangible at the last second so Jean’s hands passed right through him and nearly caused him to stumble over. “Hey, no fair!” the blond complained.

“What? I’m just practicing with my powers like I said,” he replied innocently, hanging upside down in the air in front of Jean’s face. Jean scowled and poked him in the forehead, sending the halfa floating away with a dramatic cry of “No… my one weakness…” He did a flip in the air to right himself and rested his chin in his hands, smiling expectantly at Jean.

“You’re a dork.”

“You know you love it~”

“Oh, go practice being invisible!” he huffed. “Actually, no. Don’t. I don’t know what you’ll do to me.”

Marco pointed an accusing finger at himself, feigning a look of indignation. Him? Use his powers for the sake of getting a rise out of his best friend? What an outlandish claim.

Still, they weren’t out there to play around, so Marco relented his teasing and focused on his original goal. He began flying around, weaving his way through the trees along the inner edge of the clearing. He started accelerating, letting himself go transparent as he dropped his tangibility, afraid of colliding with the trees.

Jean watched him dart around, a mere blur of black and blue, until he was going too fast to follow consistently and Jean had to wait until his lap brought him back into his field of vision. Jean entertained the query of how fast his top speed must've been when he realized Marco had not come around in a full lap yet and jumped back in surprise. Did he loose track of him or did he-

He nearly yelped when an invisible pair of hands tucked themselves under his arms, lifting him a few feet off the ground. Jean’s feet kicked wildly, trying to free himself from his captor.

“Hey! Put me down!” he roared, struggling. He could hear the whisper of a laugh in his ear as the halfa tried his hardest to swallow his giggles. “I mean it!”

“Aww, not having fun?” the disembodied voice cooed. He let Jean struggle for a bit longer before lowering the grumbling teenager back to the ground. Marco reappeared, floating above his slightly flustered friend with a pleased smirk while he rested his hands on his shoulders and grinned down at him. His legs had been replaced by a misty grey tail that looped lazily around Jean’s body, which was swatted away as the blond glared back at his friend.

Marco laughed again and opened his mouth to address the younger boy when something caught his attention in the corner of his eye. His grip on Jean tightened in urgency and he tried to hone in on the flash of green that had passed through his vision.

“Marco, what-“ He shushed him, landing at his side. Closing his ‘good’ eye, Marco looked skyward, letting his vision be swarmed by monochrome blurs. While the accident had almost blinded him in his right eye, it also bestowed upon it a strange ability. He could see ectosignatures- strange auras given off by ghostly energy. Humans could see it in the way that ghosts held an otherworldly glow, but Marco’s ability allowed him to see the colors unique to each individual ghost. Whatever was nearby had one of a sickly green and seemed to be tracking the two boys. Fading rings of a green mist looped above their clearing a few times before dipping down and disappearing behind the tree line.

He tried, but the blur of the trees prevented him from tracking exactly where it had gone to and Marco opened both of his eyes again. He backed away from where he assumed the other ghost to be, tugging Jean along with him.

“We’re not alone anymore, we’ve got to-“

He didn’t get the chance to finish that sentence because the ghost chose that moment to make its presence fully known, bursting into the clearing from behind. It was a horrible shadow-like creature with only a small semblance of a human form remaining. Misty tendrils grey as smoke willowed around a lanky body that ended in a wispy tail where legs should have been. Fingers tapered to sharp talons and its horrible face consisted only of green voids in the shape of eyes and a fanged mouth.

The boys separated as it lunged for them with a piercing cry, limbs flailing when it was met only with the ground. It rose up, hissing angrily, its prey now on either side of it. The shadowy ghost looked between the two, vacant green eyes lingering on Marco with a curious interest. The halfa stared back, clenching his fists as he prepared to take action. He’d dealt with aggressive ghosts, even before he had his powers. His only question now was how he was going to manage now with those powers instead of the ghost-repelling equipment they stocked down in the labs.

He didn’t have a chance to think it over, because the ghost decided instead to turn its attentions over to Jean, dubbing the human as the easier prey. He only had a split second to dive out of the way before claws dug into the ground where he once stood. The ghost let out another horrid shriek and slid in front of Jean as he ran away, causing him to fall as he quickly attempted to back up and lost balance.

“Jean!” Marco shouted, reaching out towards the ghost that was slowly advancing upon his friend. “Leave him alone!”

The specter certainly didn’t abide to his words, but thankfully his powers took initiative instead. A beam of purple energy pooled around his extended hand and launched forth, striking the shadow beast in the side. It was thrown back into the trees, hissing and crying in pain as its wound sizzled.

Marco stood in shock for a moment, but there was no time to mull over what just happened. He rushed over, grabbing Jean by the arm and forced him to his feet.

“I didn’t know you could do that!”

“Neither did I!” the halfa replied as he brought them to a full run, turning them both intangible so they wouldn’t have to weave through the trees. Screeches from behind told them that the ghost had recovered and it was _pissed._ They reached the main part of the park when it came back for its revenge, crashing into the ground behind them with enough force to throw both teens off their feet and send them skidding across the grass.

They were pulled apart once again, but this time the spirit had its attentions fully on the halfa. Purple steam still rose from where Marco had struck it and he wondered if he could replicate that power. He raised his gloved hands into fists and violet orbs of spectral energy flickered to life around them. The ghost hissed again, narrowing its green eyes. Marco fired another blast, but it dodged this time, wise to his tricks. It charged at Marco, who just barely missed being impaled by those talons, launching up higher into the air.  He took another shot, which was easily dodged, and the two ghosts fell into a loop of attacking and evading, flying loops around one another.

The antagonizing ghost was right on Marco’s heels when it was distracted by a rock that bounced off the back of its head.

“Hey Smokey!” Jean yelled from below, another rock in hand that he was prepped to throw. The ghost turned on him with a snarl and Jean felt his resolve slipping under its piercing gaze, his grip on the stone tightening.

“Jean! What are you doing?!” The specter turned back at Marco’s outburst, but Jean recaptured its attention by throwing his second rock when its head was turned.

It screeched, pulling into a dive as it plummeted towards Jean, who dropped his next set of projectiles in order to scramble out of the way, and Marco had to act fast. He fired another blast down at the ghost now that it wasn’t looking, and caught it square in the back. Its descent stopped as it howled in pain, squirming as the attack pinned it in mid air. Marco brought his other hand forward, adding to the beam. The shadowy spirit convulsed under the onslaught and gave one last cry before its misty body broke apart and faded into the night.

Marco let out a deep breath before he dropped heavily to the ground, his powers nearly exhausted. Jean rushed forward to catch him, letting the halfa use him as support as his ghost form gave way and he transformed back.

“You okay there?” he asked, rubbing Marco’s shoulder gently.

“Am _I_ okay?” Marco seemed to snap a bit out of his daze, staring at Jean over the top of his glasses. “What were you thinking, you could’ve been- Jean, you’re hurt!”

The blond blinked in surprise, bringing his hand up to his cheek where Marco was staring. His fingers touched something wet and he pulled away to find a bit of blood smudged on his fingertips.

“Tch. The stupid thing must’ve nicked me,” he grumbled, glancing back at the halfa who was still staring at him in concern. “Oh relax, it’s just a cut.”

Marco sighed heavily. “If I’d known you were going to get hurt, I would have convinced you to stay home.”

“And I would’ve snuck out anyway.” Jean maneuvered Marco’s arm to lay across his shoulders, letting him shift more of the worn-out halfa’s weight off of his feet. Marco protested weakly, but he’d expended too much energy in that battle so he had to allow Jean to half carry him back to the apartments.

In their journey back home Marco recovered enough to stop using his friend as a walking crutch, though he did wordlessly agree to take the elevator up to the second floor rather than the stairwell. Marco’s parents luckily had not returned, so the two boys didn’t have to worry about explaining why they had come stumbling in past nightfall looking just a tad bit disheveled.

They collapsed on the couch in a fit of laughter, the weight of the night’s events finally hitting them. They had seriously lucked out. If Marco hadn’t triggered that new power, who knows what that ghost would’ve done to them. Trost’s spirits weren’t normally aggressive unless they were chasing someone out of their territory, but the ones that did attack humans unprovoked were particularly foul. There was a reason the city had a police force equipped with special weapons meant to detain the supernatural in the event of these attacks.

In the full light they could see the extent of the damage they’d taken during the fight and Marco went to obtain a first aid kit. Since Marco had discovered that he healed abnormally fast upon the acquisition of his powers, Jean was the only one being treated. Besides the scrape on his cheek, he had obtained a few bruises on his arms from skidding across the rough ground.

Jean shrugged off his jacket, which was looking a bit worse for wear from the battle, so Marco could get at his injuries. The brunet winced at the sight of the discolored blemishes against his pale skin, feeling guilty that he had been the one to get Jean into that situation. He tried to play it off that it barely hurt, but grunted in discomfort when Marco applied a cold pack to the worst of them, instructing the blond to hold that against them to discourage swelling. “Yeah, yeah. Who are you, my mom?” was Jean’s response and Marco only rolled his eyes, moving to take care of the scrape on his cheek.

It had stopped bleeding by now, but the wound was still raw. Marco pulled an antibacterial wipe out of the kit he’d brought along and moved in close to dab it along his cheek. Jean hissed at the sting, trying to flinch away from the contact.

“Don’t move,” Marco urged him, bringing his hand to cup his other cheek and keep his head in place while he finished disinfecting the injury. He went for the kit again, getting some gauze and medical tape to finish patching him up. “You’re an idiot sometimes, you know that?” Jean shrugged. “But, thanks. You’re great at thinking on the spot, a lot better than me for sure, and I probably wouldn’t have made it if it weren’t for you.” The scrape was sufficiently dealt with and Marco pulled away to place his hands in his lap, smiling gently at Jean.

The blond coughed into his hand, turning to hide his faint blush. “You saved me first, so we’ll call it even.”

Marco’s smile wavered a bit and he cast his eyes down to his lap. “Yeah, but if it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have gotten hurt in the first place.” His hands tensed, gripping at the fabric of his jeans. “Maybe I should just lay low…”

“Are you kidding?!” Jean’s outburst caught him by surprise, the blond’s hands flying to cover his own. “Yeah, it could’ve gone better, but that was awesome! And what about that new power? You _have_ to try that out again.”

He supposed Jean had a point. He would need more training now that he had unlocked a new ability. He already had trouble keeping his other ones in check during day-to-day activities, imagine what could happen if _that_ one went haywire one day. He’d be trying to explain to the principal just how he had managed to blast a hole through the classroom wall. And if it hit someone…

Marco shuddered at the very thought of it.

“Alright. Alright. Just… not right away. I’ll wait until the weekend.” It was only Wednesday, so that gave them at least a few days to recover from the night’s escapades. Jean seemed less than pleased with the arrangements, clearly hoping for more excitement, but he didn’t argue Marco’s decision.

“But…” he added after a moment’s thought, “are you sure you want to keep tagging along? I don’t want you getting hurt again.”

“I’m _fine._ I’m more worried about what my mom’s going do when she sees this.” He pointed to his cheek. “Think she’ll believe me if I say I tripped?”

That got a laugh out of Marco. “What, the great Jean Kirschstein, the most graceful of our generation tripping and falling on his face? Surely you jest.”

“Rude.”

“Jean, she _always_ tells you that you’re going to fall wearing those combat boots of yours. She’ll probably be thrilled with the news once she’s done fussing over you.”

He looked down at his feet and the black boots that came up to his mid calf. “Oh, yeah. Maybe I’ll tell her the truth instead and let her make her own assumptions.”

Marco snorted, shaking his head. “Well, you can work something out before you go home, which you should probably do before she comes up here and drags you back herself.”

“Is it really that late?” Jean asked, looking to the clock on the wall. It was past ten o’clock, which was stretching it on the time frame where she would’ve wanted him out during a school night, even if he was only a floor up from their apartment suite. Jean was honestly surprised she hadn’t started calling. “You sure? I could always ask to stay until your parents get home. I’m sure she’d allow it.”

He waved him off. “Don’t worry about it, I doubt they’ll be back before midnight.” He didn’t miss the almost sympathetic look he’d received. “It’s _fine_ , Jean, really. I’m used to it. Now get home before she chews your ear off.”

Jean was hesitant to agree, but Marco had a point. Several points, actually, he reluctantly realized while throwing his jacket back on. His mother was already going to give him hell for the cut on his cheek, she didn’t need to see the rest of it. “Alright, but don’t go calling me in the middle of the night because of poltergeists or something.”

“Come on, everyone knows he never leaves the fourth floor.”

Marco saw him to the door and the boys said their goodbyes, promising to meet at their usual time so they could walk to school together.

Marco waved as he shut the door and flopped back onto the couch, staring up at the ceiling. A hand was raised above his head, fingers flexing, fist clenching and unclenching. He watched it as though it would burst with purple light at the slightest provocation. With a heavy sigh he let it come down to rest on his stomach, head thumping against the pillow behind him.

He had a _lot_ to think about tonight.

That was how Mr. and Mrs. Bodt found him upon their return early that morning, fast asleep still on the sofa. They quietly maneuvered around him, since the effort required to move him off the couch would probably wake the boy (He was only sixteen and already nearing his father’s height). His mother placed a kiss to his forehead and covered him with a blanket. Marco almost immediately snuggled into the warmth, sighing contently. His parents smiled at the sight before creeping off to their own bedroom to call it a night.

He was going to wake up disoriented and a little sore the coming morning, but for now Marco was enjoying a much-needed rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm gonna try to go for weekly updates... keyword is try. And thank you to everyone who left kudos thus far, the support is greatly appreciated!


	3. Planning

Jean’s injuries had not gone unnoticed the next day at school. There wasn’t much he could do in the way of hiding the gauze on his cheek, but a few people had gotten glances of the bruises on his arms from his jacket shifting during class. Soon there were whispers going around about how the boy with the undercut and the pierced ear had gotten into a fight with some local gang. A few variations on the rumor had him pitted against the police for trying to sneak into Sina Laboratories to see ‘that freckled kid’ he always hung around.

Marco tried extra hard that day to keep a low profile. Thanks to his own accelerated healing, the injuries he’d sustained were nearly gone and barely noticeable underneath all of his freckles, so there was no real evidence tying him back to whatever incident Jean had gotten into, but he still had to dodge the occasional inquiry.

Jean, in the meanwhile, was finding great amusement in the absurd rumors everyone was spreading about him. He even casually let slip to a few people that he was a vigilante helping protect the city from evildoers. They'd ignored him in favor of their own theories, though a few new rumors of Jean being a secret member of the police force cropped up after that.

The only people unconvinced by any of the hearsay were Sasha and Connie, for they knew Jean far too well. If he managed to get himself hurt, it wasn’t going to be over something like that. He may look and act like a punk, but it hardly carried over to his personal life.

They cornered him in the hallway before third period, a class the three of them shared. The duo flanked him on either side so he wouldn’t be able to find a way to escape.

“Yes, hello to you too,” Jean said flatly, shrugging his bag onto his back where it wasn’t going to be rammed into his side by Connie on his left as he nudged him roughly.

“ _So,”_ Sasha began, “we hear you got yourself into a fight last night.”

“And that you’ve been telling people you’re the city’s new protector?” the short teen urged, elbowing Jean in the waist a few times.

“What, you don’t believe me?” They shook their heads. “Wow, such supportive friends. There was some serious ass-beating going down last night, you should’ve seen it.” It was technically true, though he hadn’t been the one doing it.

“Oh, I’m sure there was,” Connie remarked, turning to his cohort on the other side with a wiggle of his eyebrows, causing Sasha to giggle.

The grins the two exchanged were so manic that Jean felt a wave of uneasiness spread across him.

“Just what are you two getting at?” he asked, almost afraid of what the answer could possibly be. When the gears got turning in those two’s heads, nothing good ever came out of it.

“Oh come on, we know what you and Marco have been hiding from us,” Connie answered.

Jean paled. Did they actually find out what had really happened last night? But no, there was no way they could’ve known anything. Marco hadn’t had any slip ups around them to the best of his knowledge and the quartet almost never discussed ghosts or the Bodts’ occupation when they hung out, so how?

“What makes you think we’re hiding anything?” he bluffed, hoping his poker face was convincing enough. It wasn’t. Sasha and Connie both exchanged a glance before leveling him with unimpressed stares.

“Seriously Jean?” Sasha picked up the interrogation. “We barely get to see Marco these past few weeks and when we actually do, he’s all nervous and klutzy all of a sudden.” He was about to point out that they usually never see Marco whenever the new term starts because he’s older and in a different grade, but Connie cut him off.

“Not to mention _you’ve_ been getting more defensive than you already are,” Connie added. Jean countered with a ‘No I’m not’.

“We’re just saying that we understand why you’d be afraid to tell anyone, but as your friends you don’t need to worry about hiding your relationship from us anymore.”

“I told you, we’re not-“ Jean cut off to stare at the girl with a bewildered expression, his face alighting with a furious blush. “Wait, what?!”

“See, he’s blushing!” she squealed. “I knew it! You two _are_ finally together!”

Jean stammered awkwardly, temporarily forgetting how to function under that insinuation. His brain struggled to comprehend where they would even get such and outlandish idea from. “What- We’re not- But- What d’ya mean _finally?”_

There was a collective eye roll and Connie spoke up. “Seriously? You think we never noticed that dopey way you two act with each other? There was so much sexual tension we were practically _choking_ on it!”

Jean fell silent, his ears burning. Well, they were nowhere near the real secret, but he wasn’t too sure what they’d cooked up was any better. What sexual tension? The way they interacted wasn’t any different from the way Sasha and Connie acted with each other.

Then again Sasha and Connie also obviously had a thing for each other, not that either of them would admit to it…

Maybe the terrible twosome weren’t the best example to use, Jean realized, trying not to let their words get to him too much. First of all, they had _no_ right to call anyone out on pussyfooting around a potential relationship (not that there was one). Their little ‘just friends’ dance had been going on long past Jean’s toleration level for that sort of thing. He just assumed they were together in secret at this point- another reason why they couldn’t make those sorts of accusations! No, they were just teasing, they had to be, he decided while watching them fiddle around with their cell phones.

Oh no, that couldn’t be a good sign.

“What are you doing?”

“Texting Marco that we’re on to him,” she answered as the duo pocketed their phones. “And to be more gentle with our precious little grump. I always pegged him for the type to play a little rough, y’know? It’s always the nice ones.”

As the two sniggered to themselves, Jean’s head nearly burst from embarrassment when he realized just what they thought his bruises were from. He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and pulled it out to reveal a single new message in his inbox.

 

**From: Ghost Boy**

**Why did I just get texts from sasha and connie saying to ‘play nice’ and ‘don’t forget protection’?**

 

**To: Ghost Boy**

**ugh… ignore the idiots ill explain later**

He quickly typed out his response and sent it, jamming his phone back into his pocket only to be greeted by a lovely pair of shit-eating grins.

“What’s that, Jean? Texting the bae?” Connie teased, which got him a noogie to his buzz cut head.

“I’m warning him about you two menaces. And we’re _not_ dating or whatever the hell else you think we’re doing. I fell down the stairs, okay?”

But the duo just dismissed his words with a casual hum of agreement, their minds made up. Jean was practically escorted to his next class with the two pinned to his sides, making sure to load their conversation with as many innuendos as they could cook up.

When they got to class, the teasing didn’t stop. Jean thought he was free when they settled at their desks, the two of them a row behind where they couldn’t say anything without the teacher hearing. He silently thanked whatever being was looking out for him for the brief moment of peace. As he opened up his notebook to his most recent page of completely on topic coursework and _not_ random doodles, a rumpled piece of paper alighted atop it from behind. Scowling, Jean opened it to reveal his name and Marco’s written inside a heart.

The thank you was revoked.

Checking to see their teacher was sufficiently distracted, Jean wheeled around in his chair to glare back at the offenders. Both pointed accusatory fingers at the other, so Jean just picked the lesser of two evils and hurled it at Connie before turning back around.

Behind him he could hear giggles and the tell-tale crumbling of paper and Jean let his forehead meet the desk with a heavy sigh.

Today was going to be a long day.

* * *

 Marco didn’t handle the news any better when Jean finally got the chance to explain to him what his mysterious texts were implying. The poor boy’s face had gone so red that Jean wouldn’t have been surprised if steam suddenly came off him. Or maybe mist would be more appropriate. Ghosts were typically cold.

He had apparently received a few more texts throughout the day, though they mostly consisted of winking emoticons that Marco was too embarrassed to reply to now that he knew what they meant. Jean did the honors for him with a polite ‘fuck you’ and soon received replies commanding him to give Marco his phone back. He begrudgingly complied, though Marco was still too mortified to address any of the prior messages.

However, the texts had caused another issue for Marco. While he hadn’t quite understood the context (or at least blocked it out of his mind as a possibility), Connie’s first message of ‘use protection’ had reminded him of a key problem he had been mulling since last night.

He needed a way to make sure a certain hard-headed friend of his stayed out of danger if he was going to insist on tagging along for ghostly outings. Even after their close encounter, he wasn’t deterred from potentially facing aggressive spirits again. If nothing, he seemed even more eager to roam the streets at night with him. Odd too, because Jean usually didn’t seek out danger; he had a good sense of self-preservation and avoided trouble if he could.

That’s not to say that trouble never found _him._ It happened quite a bit actually.

Still, that left Marco with a dilemma. He wasn’t _planning_ on being attacked by a rogue ghost again, but if it happened, he knew he might not be able to keep Jean out of harm’s way. Lord knows he did a brilliant job of it last time. His eyes flicked guiltily to the gauze taped to the blond’s cheek. So, that meant he had to figure something out before the weekend when they went out again.

“I’m heading down to the lab with my parents this afternoon.” The announcement came out of nowhere, causing Jean to almost spit out the soda he was drinking in alarm.

“What! Marco, are you serious?” The last time Marco was down at Sina Labs hadn’t gone that well for him, half dying and all.

He nodded solemnly. “They could use the help and I can’t just avoid it forever.” Actually he could, and completely intended to prior, but he’d cooked up a plan to help keep Jean safe from ghosts and that, unfortunately, involved going to the lab.

“If you’re sure,” Jean had muttered and that’d been the end of that conversation.

His parents had had a similar reaction when he told them. Both stared at their son as though he were clinically insane and his mother even rushed forward to make sure he wasn’t running a fever. Once they’d established he was neither mental nor ill, that left the matter of why. Again he gave his answer, how he wanted to be helpful and needed to face his fears eventually. His mother was unconvinced, ready to forbid him from ever returning to the labs, but his father had a different idea.

“Come now, ‘Bella, I don’t see any harm in letting him come along,” he offered, and his wife turned to him in a second, leveling him with the same ‘are you insane’ look she had given their son just moments prior.

Marco’s parents were interesting to view side-by-side. Victor Bodt was a tall, lanky individual with unkempt, dirty-blond hair and a mass of freckles that made it obvious exactly which side of the family those genes came from. Isabella, on the other hand, had a stockier build with long dark, wavy hair currently pinned in a messy bun and a slight tan from her Italian roots.

“’ _Don’t see any harm’_? Do you not remember what happened _last_ time he helped us in the lab?” Even though she only came up to his shoulder, Victor still managed to shrink under his wife’s intense gaze.

“Well, yes, but I’m sure he learned his lesson from that, _right_?” Marco snapped to attention and nodded fervently. “See? And we haven’t brought in any relics since then, so it’s not even an issue.”

Isabella frowned, taken a moment to look between her boys who were both giving her the same pleading ‘please allow this’ expression. She sighed. It was really hard to say no to faces like that. “Alright, fine. But nothing potentially dangerous. You can help us organize some of our data.”

“Yessum.” He saluted his motherly cheesily, which she couldn’t help but crack a smile at.

“Okay, now hurry up and get ready, your father and I need to head out soon.”

It felt weird having the normal brown and white uniform on instead of the corrupt version his ghost form assumed, but it was a requisite if he was going to be in the lab. The whole situation made him anxious. He was going back to the place where he’d nearly died, in the very outfit he’d been wearing when it happened! It was cause enough to make anyone uncomfortable, but he had a goal to accomplish, so his anxiety was just going to have to take a backseat for the time being.

The drive there was a brief one, only about fifteen minutes and soon Marco was passing through the threshold of the labs and trying to keep his nerves in check. Deep breaths, he told himself. Keep your cool. Remember that the building itself hadn’t tried to kill you, but the locket that’d been inside it at the time.

Isabella, her ‘mom radar’ tuned up to the strongest frequency, picked up that something was wrong with her son and was at his side in a heartbeat. She reached down and took is hand in her own and gave a squeeze. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to. I can take you back home.”

He shook his head, giving his mother a grateful smile and squeezed back. “No, no I want to. I need to. I’m just… remembering is all...”

_Everything raced through his mind at once; the locket and its crystal, the rattling furniture, the flying sparks. A memory of intense pain coursing through his body and a surge of energy bursting out from within…_

_Marco shot up in a cold sweat, panting heavily. He was… alive? He squinted, his eyesight oddly off in a way that he couldn’t quite place with his still foggy brain. He was in his room, as a quick survey of the surroundings confirmed. But when? How had he gotten back and what happened to-?_

_The locket! Marco gasped, looking down at his hand and finding nothing but a black glove covering the appendage. Wait a moment, he’d been wearing white gloves, not black. And the uniform consisted of a tan jacket, so why was the sleeve covering his arm dark blue?_

_Spooked, he leapt out of bed, stumbling and falling at the weightlessness of the action. He dragged himself to his feet, rushing to the dresser mirror to look at the rest of himself._

_He screamed._

_The face that stared back at him was his own, yet not his own. His hair was not white, nor his eyes purple… and they didn’t glow for that matter either. He brought a hand up slowly to the right side of his face, tracing the roughness of a scar that matched the one he was looking at. His hands flew up to fist in his hair and he stumbled back, away from his reflection. No, no this wasn’t right. What was happening to him? How- Why-?_

_“Marco? Marco, are you alright?” The thundering of approaching footsteps snapped him out of his trance. Oh no, his parents! They couldn’t see him like this! He frantically looked around the room as if it held some secret solution. He screwed his_ _eyes shut as the footsteps got louder, wishing, **praying** , that this was all a dream. That he would open them again and be back to normal with his normal clothes and his normal hair and eyes and face and-_

_There was a flash of light, then his door burst open and Marco found himself swept into the arms of his mother as she peppered his face with kisses, as though she was making sure that every single one of his freckles was still in place._

_“Oh mio bambino, you’re okay!” she cried, her slight Italian accent thickening with emotion, and squeezed him a little tighter than necessary. “When we found you passed out on the floor with that locket we were so scared something horrible had happened!”_

_Marco’s eyes widened and he pulled back enough to look his mother in his face. Something horrible **did** happen, could she not see him properly? His father stood in the doorway, a similar look of relief on his face, though Marco had to squint to see his expression. What was wrong with them, why weren’t they reacting at all?_

_“Mom, I-“ he began, until he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He was- he was normal! No white hair, no scar, no purple, just normal Marco. His vision was still a little screwed up though._

_“Marco?” Isabella questioned, reaching up to cup his face. “Sweetie, what’s wrong?”_

_He smiled, shaking his head. “No, I’m fine. Just… what happened to the locket?”_

_His father was the one to answer. “We’re not sure. All the spectral energy had dissipated somehow. We also don’t know how you managed to get it open.”_

_Marco furrowed his brow. That didn’t make any sense, it had opened pretty easily for him._

_“Victor,” his mother spoke up again, her tone soft, but firm. “Let’s not worry him with that right now, he’s clearly been through an ordeal.” He coughed into his hand, muttering a flustered apology and a ‘yes dear’. Isabella smiled sweetly, giving her son one last kiss on the forehead. “Get some rest. We’ll be back to check on you soon.”_

_Both parents left the room, closing the door behind them, leaving Marco to sit there and simmer in a pot of unanswered questions. He sighed, falling onto his back, holding his hand up above him to examine it. He was still in the uniform, the properly colored one, and he idly wondered if he’d just imagined the whole thing._

_He pushed himself up, figuring he should at least change out of that stuffy outfit while he mulled things over, shrugging the short jacket off. The accident definitely happened, his parents confirmed that, he thought to himself, pulling the gloves off with his teeth. But what was the rest of it, the tail end of some kind of fever dream? The shirt was the next thing to go and he examined his bare torso in the mirror. His dad mentioned that the locket lost its spectral qualities, so maybe it had gone to him somehow and was messing with his brain._

_It was messing with his eyes at least, he mused, squinting again to bring the right side of his world back into focus. He was going to need glasses after this whole ordeal. An image of his other self flashed through his consciousness, of the scaring and how his eye had looked blind. Marco frowned, focusing on that mental image._

_A ring of light materialized around his waist and he bit back a shriek, jumping away from the dresser again. It split into two, one rapidly moving towards his head and the other to his feet. He closed his eyes as it passed in front of them. He opened them again when he felt that it was gone and ventured a glance at the mirror._

_His white-haired self stared back._

_“So it wasn’t a dream…” he murmured, hand immediately going back to trace his scarred face. He realized the inverted uniform was back even though he’d been shirtless when he switched to that form this time. Focusing again, he made the rings reappear, turning him normal again and sans one shirt._

_Marco sighed heavily and finished changing, throwing on a loose T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. He was too tired to figure this out now. He fished his phone off the nightstand, shooting a quick text to Jean about meeting him later, then collapsed bonelessly to the bed and allowed sleep to claim him once more._

_He awoke, bleary, to what felt like someone’s hot breath radiating onto his face. What he saw when his vision cleared up, was a set of golden eyes that were far too close and he yelped, shoving the offender away._

_“Jean, you ass! How many times do I have to tell you not to… do… that…” he trailed off. “Jean?”_

_Jean’s face had gone pale, staring in horror at Marco. “You’re- you’re gone,” was all he said._

_The freckled teen frowned. “No I’m not, I’m right here.” He reached out to poke Jean in the face, only to realize that he couldn’t see himself reaching out. Marco gasped, frantically searching himself. He could feel his body, tell where he was spatially, but he couldn’t **see** himself. _

_He jumped as he felt Jean’s hand on his chest, reaching towards where he could hear his friend’s voice, and the jolt was enough to snap him back to a state of visibility._

_The blond pulled back. “So, uh… I think I know why you wanted to talk now…”_

_He chuckled nervously. “Actually… that part’s new. Are my parents around?”_

_Jean shook his head. “When I came in they told me to keep an eye on you so they could go pick stuff up.”_

_“Okay good, because it’ll be easier just to show you.” He pushed off the bed and stood, biting his lip as he cast a nervous glance to his friend. “Promise you won’t freak out.” Jean gave him a skeptic look, but raised his hand, placing the other over his heart._

_Marco let out an exasperated sigh at the antics. He took in a breath and focused, feeling a rush of energy that pooled around his center. The ring appeared and Jean audibly hitched his breath as it passed, changing Marco’s form in its wake. He looked up, waiting for a response._

_Jean was silent for a while, his eyes moving rapidly as he took everything in. The now white hair, the purple eyes, the new clothes, and his face in general. His gaze lingered over the mass of scar tissue that sullied the right side of his freckled face a bit too long and Marco, upon realization, self-consciously turned his head so Jean could only see the left half._

_They stayed like that for a while, Jean observing and Marco trying to not meet his eyes. Occasionally he’d open his mouth to comment, only to wordlessly shut it again, leaving Marco in tormenting suspense._

_After an eternity of awkward silence, he finally spoke. “I think I need to hear this from the beginning.”_

“Marco.”

His mother’s gentle voice snapped him out of his reverie. While he was spacing out, remembering the aftermath of his accident, she had led him down to their workspace, his body on autopilot from the number of times he’d been there during their three years in Trost.

He looked around. The room was as messy as ever; charts and graphs and newspaper clippings lined the walls and Victor was already busying himself with a pile of papers on one of the desks.

Marco laughed as his father managed to knock a good deal of the leaflets on the floor as he attempted to move far too many at once.

His plan could wait until later, now was the time to get some work done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sasha and Connie finally make their grand debut! We also get a little bit of flashback (which was a preview drabble I posted on my tumblr for Marco's birthday).


	4. Poltergeist Problems

After being away for nearly a month, one tended to forget just how dull research could be. Especially when you were just organizing research that had already been done. Marco yawned, pushing aside the stack of charts mapping out local haunts that he’d been organizing chronologically. He probably should have cared more, after all a lot of this information would be incredibly useful to him, but he’d already been at this for over an hour now. His brain couldn’t handle trying to process anything more than the dates labeling the maps.

He stretched, deciding to wander over to his father, who was busying himself with the articles on the bulletin board. He was taking down outdated ones that were either no longer accurate due to new information or relevant to an issue that had already been solved in order to update with more current news (Marco caught a brief glance of a clipping dated for last year- when was the last time they’d gone through these?).  His eyes skimmed over headlines, finding slight amusement in all the terrible puns and references. His eyes fell to a familiar title and he felt a wave of dread as he recognized it as his own article. Why hadn’t it occurred to him that his parents were going to see that?

Victor caught notice of his son’s sudden interest in the pinned clipping and came over to investigate which one had caught his fancy. “Ah yes, the Trost-pera Phantom.” Marco shuddered inwardly. “The name’s kind of unfortunate, but oddly fitting. This one’s all mysteries right now, people just started noticing him recently. We don’t know anything yet.”

“Witnesses say his face is badly scarred, the poor dear,” Isabella offered from the other side of the room, where she was emptying out the contents of a file cabinet to sort through. Marco had to refrain from touching where his scar would be. “Must’ve died in some horrible accident.” Of course that’s what she was concerned with. His mom had an odd fascination with the origin stories of ghosts, especially the ones with particularly tragic deaths. He figured she pitied them or something.

“Actually ‘Bella, they could be the manifestations of emotional scars. You know some ghosts do produce physical representations of abstract concepts.”

Yeah, sorry, but no. They were definitely from being struck in the face by electricity, but thanks for playing. Your consolation prize is a moderately less cluttered office.

“Oh speaking of scars. Marco, do you know what happened to Jean? Adele mentioned that you patched up a scrape on his cheek yesterday, but he wouldn’t tell her what happened.”

Marco visibly tensed. Crap, how was he supposed to answer that? “Yes? I mean, no. Kind of?” Yeah, real smooth there Marco. Try to be even _more_ suspicious why don’t you? “I mean, he didn’t give me a straight answer, but I think he tripped somewhere.” In the park, running from a psychotic shadow ghost, but they didn’t need to know that.

Isabella hummed, pursing her lips. “That’s what Adele thought too. Honestly, that boy is ridiculous sometimes. It’s a good thing he has you to look out for him.” Marco let out a chuckle, trying not to make it sound too nervous. Right now, Jean would probably be better off if he didn’t have him around, but Marco really didn’t want to lose his friendship and Jean probably wouldn’t let him anyway. That’s why he had to go to Sina to look for an alternate solution in the first place.

With the workload significantly smaller and both parents in a lax mood due to idle conversation, he figured now would actually be the perfect time to hatch that plan he’d been mulling over all day. He excused himself to the restroom, not without a brief warning from his mother, and skittered down the hallway out of sight. He did make his way to the restroom, but only so he could transform and move about the premises under the mask of invisibility.

It was still a risky move, the facility did specialize in monitoring for paranormal activity, but he figured he should be fine if he kept to more frequented areas. They were more likely to be keeping tabs in the basement or other cold, dark, rarely used rooms that would attract ghosts more than busy corridors. Staying high, he followed the flow of traffic until he reached his destination; the tech lab.

Maro fazed his way in through the wall, finding with relief that it was empty. Sina had a couple of tech labs, where they made things like the weapons the police carried and the machines they used for analysis. This one, however, was for storing old and malfunctioning equipment. Sometimes the things in there were repaired and reused, but for the most part everything was kept around for scrap parts, and scrap parts were just what he was after.

He hovered over to a set of labeled drawers, searching until he found the desired pieces of equipment. Grinning, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a drawstring bag he’d hidden in there prior to leaving the house. He began stuffing it with a number of pieces he knew for sure he’d need, then filled it the rest of the way with extra parts- just in case. The scrap metal disappeared within the invisible bag and Marco drew it shut, closing the drawer behind him as he made his way back to his parents' office.

Still invisible, he snuck in, heading to where his book bag lay near the door. He used his powers to intangibly place the bag of parts within, making sure they didn’t look his way and see the bag slightly moving on its own. With the deed done, Marco nearly let out a sigh of relief, but caught himself in time. He slipped out and returned to the bathroom to change back, silently congratulating himself on his little heist.

“You were gone for a while, you didn’t get lost on the way, did you?” his mother had asked upon his visible return.

“Uh… no… someone stopped me to ask something,” he lied, coming over to stand at her side as she was arranging things on the desk.

“Must’ve been about the accident,” Victor supplied, looking up from the file in his hands. “People from all over the lab were asking us if you were alright for _at least_ a week.”

“Really? You never told me that.” Marco tilted his head, frowning. Had it really been that huge of an issue that people who never even worked with or around his parents were concerned?

“ _Because_ we didn’t want to worry you.” Isabella glowered at her husband, who only managed a weak shrug “It’s true though,” he muttered, face hidden by a manila folder.

She sighed, turning fully to face him. “I’m sorry, Marco. It’s just that you’ve been acting strange ever since the accident, and we were worried it would only upset you more if you knew.”

His eyes widened. “Y-you’ve noticed?”

Isabella reached up to place a hand on his cheek. “Oh sweetie, of course we have. Just because we aren’t home often, doesn’t mean we can’t tell when something’s troubling you.” He frowned, glancing to the floor, but she forced him to meet her eyes. “ _And..._ you have every right to be shaken. I’m honestly surprised you’re taking it as well as you are. You nearly died, for God’s sake!”

Marco could have laughed. Oh she had _no_ idea.

“But you know you don’t have to keep it all in. We’re your parents, you can tell us anything that’s bothering you.”

Marco bit his lip. Could he? How would they react if they knew the truth? They were his parents, it shouldn’t change their opinion of him, but they also dedicated so much of their time to researching ghosts. How could he be sure he wouldn’t just become a new case study? What if they started seeing the ghost more than they saw their son?

His eyes flitted behind his glasses, mind racing. He felt a hand on his shoulder as his father came over to offer his support. Marco looked up, studying the expressions of both of his parents. There were warm smiles, encouragement in their eyes.

He opened his mouth. “I…”

“Victor! Isabella!” A rough looking man with a scraggly beard barged in, effectively spoiling the moment. Marco recognized him, even though the name escaped him. “Something new just came in with that case you’ve been studying.”

“The shape-shifter?” Victor asked, pulling away. “Has it been spotted again?”

The man nodded. “We may need you to pull another late night, they managed to get some samples before it escaped.” He briskly dismissed himself without another word.

“Damn,” Victor murmured once he had left. “And here I was actually thinking we’d get home early.”

Isabella chuckled. “At least we have some new data to work with. Oh, Marco dear, you don’t mind finding your own way home, do you? I’d hate to make you stay the whole time. I can get Adele to come pick you up, she should be off work by now.”

Marco politely declined. “It’s alright, I can just take the bus. I have money for fare.”

“If you’re sure…” she mumbled, giving him a quick peck on the cheek as he gave her a hug goodbye. He did the same to his father, who ruffled his hair instead, and went to scoop up his backpack, wincing as it rattled noisily. Hopefully they hadn’t caught that.

“Marco!” she called just as he was about to exit. “What were you going to say before he interrupted?”

Marco merely shook his head. “Nothing… just… thank you. For the support.” He waved them off and exited the premises.

Once outside, rather than heading to the bus stop down the street, Marco ducked down an alleyway, a flash of light briefly illuminating the darkness. Who needed buses when you could fly?

The journey back was far shorter now that he wasn’t subject to the roadways and his father’s slow driving, and soon he was descending upon his apartment complex. Marco flew straight into the second story window of their suite and made his way into his room. He transformed back, grunting as he lugged his heavy book bag off his shoulders and on to the desk. It landed nosily with a rattling thud, pieces of metal clanking against each other within. Marco fished out the duffle bag in order to empty out its contents into a messy pile on the desk for him to sort out. Like pieces went together, grouped by size so he could get an accurate tally of what he had to work with.

A few moments later and he had a neatly organized pile of parts from various pieces of equipment used in Sina labs, but mostly stuff from the ghost weapons that the police used. Marco grabbed the tool kit from inside one of the dresser drawers and overlooked his collection of scrap, wondering just where to begin.

Tinkering had always been a hobby of Marco’s, he loved taking things apart to see how they worked, and then putting them back together, usually in better condition than when he started. In fact, he would’ve just taken and modified one of the police guns that was still intact if it weren’t for the fact that they used what were essentially paranormal assault riffles. That was just a tad too big for his interests. No, he was going to have to do this by scratch.

Marco cracked his fingers, settling at the desk. This was his solution. This was how he was going to give Jean something to defend himself against the ghosts if Marco couldn’t.

He was going to build a ray gun.

* * *

The actual construction process was a lot more difficult than he’d originally thought. Since he was building this from the ground up, careful planning was in order. He had enough pieces to reconstruct one of the rifles, if he so desired, but now the dilemma was going to be recreating that in a more compact form.

Since metalwork was a noisy craft, he had to limit build times to when his parents were out, lest they become wise to his plans. This, however, also meant he had to come up with convenient excuses for Jean not to barge in on him either, as he was prone to do. Marco didn’t want him to know about the project until he was done, otherwise he’d insist on helping and they’d never get anything finished. As his cover, he told him that he’d be down at the labs again, hoping that the added exposure might cure his anxiety towards the facility. A believable enough lie and hopefully one that would keep Jean at home- or out of Marco’s room at the very least.

He worked at every chance he could get over the following days. Thursday was mostly dedicated to mapping everything out and picking the proper materials, but Friday was when the real construction began. As Marco had assumed, his parents were going to be out late again. Apparently whatever samples they’d acquired from that shape-shifting ghost were proving to be incredibly difficult to analyze. He hadn’t absorbed much of his parents’ technical talk, but from his understanding whatever samples they’d obtained tended to shape shift despite being detached from the main body.

They weren’t back until midnight that night, leaving Marco the entire evening to put together what he’d hoped was going to be a successful endeavor. A few miss fires that were absorbed by the wall (the blue scorch marks left behind thankfully washed away) told him that it at least worked, though leaving him unsure on its affects on something that was not an inanimate object.

Saturday left him with only the finishing touches to add, having done all of the base work Friday. Mr. and Mrs. Bodt were out again, this time to shop for groceries, leaving Marco with an uncertain frame of time with which to work with. The gun was essentially complete at this point and he was mainly fiddling with the exterior; checking details, making sure nothing was loose or improperly connected. It still fired harmlessly at the wall, but that didn’t tell him if it worked on its intended targets.

That was going to be a problem. He wasn’t really sure _how_ he could even go about checking for that sort of thing. The only ghosts readily available were the poltergeist upstairs, whom Marco was on good terms with and did not want to harm, and, well, himself. On the other hand, going out specifically to start a fight could spell so much trouble. Marco could defend himself, yes, but he was still unconfident with his powers. He could easily get himself into a potentially deadly situation, but, at the same time he didn’t want to give Jean a potentially faulty weapon.

He frowned, pondering over his conundrum. The gun rest in his hands, waiting to be used, and Marco stared at it while racking his brain for a solution, letting himself become absorbed by his thoughts. So absorbed, in fact, that he didn’t even hear the door practically slam open.

He’d forgotten to give himself another alibi for today.

“Whoa, since when are you packing?”

Marco yelped, the weapon in his hands slipping from his grasp as his startled reaction flipped him in and out of intangibility. He scrambled to reclaim a grip on it before it hit the table and broke. _Or worse._

Jean was leaning in the doorframe, an amused, yet curious look gracing his sharp features. He gave the halfa enough time to maintain control before inviting himself in.

“Don’t you ever knock?” Marco deadpanned, watching Jean stroll across the room and settle beside him, the desk creaking as Jean shifted most of his weight onto his hands, now resting firmly in Marco’s workspace. The brunet rolled his eyes, cautiously sliding stray materials away from curious fingers. The action did not go unnoticed and the other ‘tsk’d’ in response.

“You still didn’t answer my question, by the way,” Jean said, lifting off one of his hands in order to point at the gun Marco still held in his. “You’ve got those energy blasts now, what d’ya need a gun for?”

The freckled boy studied the thing he’d spent so long working on, carefully setting it down on the desk. “It’s not for me. I thought you could use something to defend yourself in case we get in trouble again.”

“Are you serious, Marco?!” he exclaimed, reaching around him to snatch the weapon off the table before Marco could even blink. “It’s been like three days, how’d you even manage this?”

“Jean wait! I don’t know if it works properly yet!” The blond had slid over to the other end of the room, out of reach, and was turning the gun over several times in his hands as he examined the intricate piece of equipment. Marco stayed in place, flinching the entire time as he watched his friend nervously. What if it fell apart, or accidentally fired, or-

“You’re gonna wear a hole if you keep that up.”

“Huh?” Marco blinked, his lower lip coming free from where he’d been absent-mindedly chewing on it. Jean smiled, shaking his head as he raised the gun eye-level to take a look down the barrel of it. Marco’s breath hitched at the proximity of the weapon to his friend’s face.

“You built it, right?”

Marco nodded. “Out of scrap material that I could smuggle out of the tech lab.”

“Then calm down.” He shifted to a more natural position, actually holding the gun like a gun as he tested out the grip, tossing in a couple of cheesy action movie poses that Marco couldn’t help but chuckle at.

Jean smirked, satisfied that the worrywart wasn’t going to have a heart attack anytime soon, and looked down at the gun. It felt very natural in his hands, sleek and stylized with a bit of a science-fiction touch; it looked more like a weapon from some distant galaxy than an actual gun. The brunet had definitely had him in mind when he designed it. Might’ve even used some of his sketches as reference.

“It’s designed to disrupt a ghost’s ectoplasm,” Marco explained, switching over to technical mode, “which could either stun or destroy, depending on how strong the thing you’re shooting at is.”

“So like the weapons the cops carry, but smaller.” The raw materials Marco had used were obviously from the weapons the police armed themselves incase of a ghost related emergency. It didn’t crop up often, but it was still a necessary investment for Trost. However, this was a handgun and far less conspicuous than the modified assault rifles the cops carried. “Hey, what’s this thing do?” Jean asked, noticing a small knob on the side of the gun. He teased it, adjusting the knob a few degrees.

“Settings. You can increase and decrease the strength of the beam for what you’re dealing with.”

“Oh!” he said, perking up slightly. “So it’s like the phasers in Star Trek.”

“Yes, Jean, it’s like a phaser,” Marco giggled. “God, you’re such a nerd.”

The blond feigned an offended gasp. “ _I’m_ a nerd? I’m not the one who sat here and built a ray gun from scratch in _three days_.”

“Touché.”

Jean tested the aim again now that he was holding it properly, pretending to fire at a plush horse that sat high up on one of Marco’s shelves. “So you said you’re not sure if it works?”

Marco’s hand went to rub at his nose. “It shoots at the wall just fine, but the walls aren’t exactly dangerous ghosts, now are they? I just haven’t had a chance to put it to use. For... various reasons...”

Jean hummed quietly in the back of his throat. Untested, huh? He rotated the weapon a few times in his hands, now adjusted to the feel of it. He had no reason to doubt Marco’s craftsmanship; the guy was a genius when it can to assembling and disassembling gadgetry of any sort. Still, there was only one way to be absolutely sure.

“Well, what’re we waiting for then?” Jean urged, tugging on Marco’s arm. “There’s gotta be something in town we can practice on… something harmless… Like…” He looked around the room, his eyes falling to a poster board leaning against one of the walls. “an evil spirit of cardboard or something.”

“What, like a _box_ ghost?” Marco couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the notion.

“It could happen!” Jean insisted over the chuckles, moving to cross his arms over his chest with a huff. Judging by the look on his face, he’d been completely serious over the prospects of finding this so-called ‘spirit of the cardboard’.

“As _amazing_ as the idea of a haunted box is,” Marco stifled another laugh here. “I doubt we’d find something like that. And besides, it’s the middle of the afternoon, what ghosts are even going to be out?”

CRASH

A loud clatter echoed from somewhere above, effectively startling both boys. Marco, with his deficient control of his powers, almost immediately became invisible, while Jean tightened his grip on the weapon. Both calmed down once they realized there was no immediate threat.

The racket from upstairs continued and Jean gestured towards it. “I can think of one that’s out now.”

Marco groaned. “Daz...”

Daz was a poltergeist that had been ‘living’ in the apartment complex for years. He occupied the old storage loft on the fourth floor which, for that very purpose, the building’s superintendent kept off-limits.  He wasn’t particularly dangerous, but he was extremely temperamental, which was not the best trait to have on a poltergeist with a whole arsenal at his disposal. He usually kept to himself though, flitting in and out of the physical realm, so people left him be.

But, every now and then, he liked to remind everyone that he was still around.

A distressed wail echoed from above and both boys flinched at another loud crash that shook the ceiling this time, even with an entire floor between them. They felt sorry for any residents who might’ve been on the third floor at the moment.

Well, someone was going to have to deal with him eventually. Otherwise their superintendant was going to have a fit. With a sigh of defeat he transformed himself.

Jean gave the halfa a heavy clap on the back. “Have fun with that, buddy.”

“Oh no no no,” came the response, grabbing the younger teen by the back of his jacket. “You want to help me deal with the ghosts, that includes this one.” Marco turned them both intangible and flew upwards to the fourth floor. Their destination was a dark, spacious room in disarray. Boxes, furniture, luggage, just about everything was thrown about with no sense of organization.

Jean grumbled once he feet were planted firmly on the ground (and no longer intangible), reaching back to readjust his collar. He shot Marco a pleading look. He really didn’t want to be there. “But it’s _Daz_. He’s-“

He was cut off as a lamp came flying at their heads, forcing the two teens to duck as it sailed past them and smashed against the wall behind.

“-difficult,” Jean finished.

Marco ignored the complaints. He floated in the direction the lamp had flown in from, gesturing for him to follow. The telekinetic ghost was easy enough to spot, floating in the center of the room surrounded by a mismatch of random objects orbiting around him like Saturn’s rings. His hands were buried in his short hair, threatening to rip it out, if a ghost could even do that sort of thing, as he muttered under his breath.

Jean groaned. “Can I at least shoot him? I do need a test subject.”

“No.”

“What if I put it on the lowest setting?”

“ _No.”_

He floated over, weaving his way through the assortment of items gliding around the room, to the man in the center of it all. He had a gaunt face and sunken in eyes that were blank white slates. His whole body was a dull grey that blended with the plain button-down shirt he wore, slowly melting into a long, transparent tail where his legs would’ve been. Marco came a little closer, staying outside the ring of projectiles as he called out to the other spirit. Daz let out a startled shriek, launching the closest object, which happened to be a dresser, at Marco, who barely had enough time to dart out of the way.

“Daz!” he tried again, a bit more forcefully. “Relax, it’s just us.”

The poltergeist, who was readying himself for a second strike, paused long enough to actually look at the intruders. He dropped everything he had been lifting, which fell with a resounding thud that the whole complex probably heard, and latched onto the front of Marco’s jacket.

“Halfa, you’re here!” he cried. “It’s awful. All hope is looost!” He released the poor boy, slinking slowly to the floor as he lay there in defeat. A few nearby objects rattled in an almost sad manner.

Marco cast a glance to his friend over his shoulder, who only shrugged while crossing his arms. The older teen reached down to soothingly pat the top of Daz’s head. “What’s awful?” he ventured, almost afraid to ask.

The poltergeist’s head shot up, blank eyes wide. “People were here while I was gone. Messing with my things. They… they took my forks like I wouldn’t notice!” he wailed, squirming in his position from the floor.

Forks? Really? What did he even need forks for, he didn’t eat. Marco sighed. Daz always had a bit of a dramatic flare; tended to make a crisis out of anything, usually on unfounded bases.

“You sure I can’t just shoot him?” Jean offered. Daz let out a nervous screech and clung to Marco’s legs, seeming to just now realize the human boy was there.

Another sigh. “He’s _joking_. Right, Jean?” He gave a pointed stare in his direction and the blond scoffed, shoving the gun in his pocket since he lacked a holster for it.

“I don’t understand why you insist on hanging out with this dreadful human,” Daz complained, continuing to eye Jean suspiciously. He was at least to the point where he actually dropped his guard (as well as any levitating objects) when he was around, but Marco doubted that the two would ever have a civil interaction, no matter how many times they met.

“He’s not so bad once you get used to him. Then he’s only dreadful fifty-percent of the time.”

“I beg your pardon.”

Daz didn't looked too convinced and had taken to using Marco as a buffer incase the blond changed his mind. “First my forks, and now this. What’d I ever do to you humans?” he grumbled moodily. 

“Well you do make all that racket up here.”

Daz glowered at the blond and Marco flinched as some of the smaller objects around him began to rattle, flaring up with the poltergeist’s blue-grey aura. “Daz, no!” The halfa gripped at his shoulders in an attempt to calm him down. “What’s all this about forks?”

It was a sufficient distraction. He stopped trying to throw things long enough to turn his gaunt face to Marco, a grimace spreading across it. “Oh it’s horrible! I could tell something was wrong the instant I came back. I know all the items in here and I can tell if anything’s been moved or taken.” He peaked over Marco’s shoulder, pointing dramatically. Both boys followed the digit to a cabinet shoved in one of the corners. “I keep the silverware in there and when I checked, all the forks were gone!”

Marco and Jean’s eyes met for a brief moment and the latter mimed a ‘he’s crazy’ gesture with his hand.

“Are you sure you didn’t just misplace them?”

“Of course I am!” Daz was almost offended by the insinuation. “I have a strong bond with everything in this room, I can’t just _misplace_ them!”

Marco exhaled through his nose. Unfortunately, the only possible explanation _was_ that he had misplaced them. The room was off-limits and locked up tight. Only the superintendent had the key and she most certainly wasn’t going to step foot in the room- she _hated_ Daz (During one of his particularly bad fits last year, she actually barged in and threatened to exorcise him if he didn’t keep the noise down. Her tone dared anyone to challenge whether or not she could do it and Daz was quiet for a whole month until the threat was forgotten). Certainly another ghost could slip in like Marco had, but they were not prone to encroach on a fellow specter’s territory, especially when that specter was a poltergeist. They were not popular in the ghost world.

“Tell you what, how about we keep an eye out for your missing forks?” He suggested, since they obviously weren’t going to get anywhere with the poltergeist over this. “Just please calm down before Ms. Brzenska has a fit.”

The ghost shuddered, not liking the idea of angering the woman either, and graciously accepted Marco’s offer. “Would you really? Oh thank you halfa!”

“And stop calling me that. I told you my name’s Marco…”

Jean yawned boredly. “Give it up. The day he stops calling you halfa is the day he stops being scared of me.” As though to hammer in Jean’s point, Daz gave him another apprehensive stare when he spoke and cowered further behind Marco.

The brunet shook his head, moving away to rest an arm on Jean’s shoulder. “Well, if that’s it, we’ll be off. Take care, Daz.” He turned them intangible again and they sunk back down to Marco’s room. The halfa pulled away and turned back human, collapsing on his bed with a tired huff. Jean took a seat beside him, nudging his friend’s leg playfully as he looked up at the ceiling.

“I’m surprised no one’s caught or terminated him yet. He’s such a nuisance.”

“I think they tried to, and that’s why he flickers in and out like that,” Marco supplied, arching his back off the bed while he stretched. “Plus poltergeists are almost impossible to deal with.”

This caught Jean’s attention. “How so?”

“Well, they’re telekinetic, right? So as soon as anyone tries to get close enough to do _anything_ , they throw things like crazy. And you can’t get equipment near them because they’ll just throw that too. Then everything starts malfunctioning from the spectral contact, _if_ it doesn’t break from being thrown.”

Jean smirked, poking a bit of exposed skin where Marco’s shirt had ridden up. “You sound like you have experience.”

“Let’s just say Daz isn’t the first poltergeist I’ve dealt with.” He giggled and shooed Jean’s hand away. “There was a nasty one in Klorva that haunted a tool shop and liked to throw hammers.”

The blond snorted. So a hammer-throwing ghost exists, yet his box theory is implausible? He fell to his back, laying beside Marco on the bed now, their shoulders barely touching. “Think he’s on to something with the forks?”

Marco gave him a sidelong look. “With Daz, who knows? I still think him losing them makes the most sense, because someone would’ve had to put in a lot of effort to break in there just to steal some forks.”

Jean hummed quietly. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, that poltergeist that's been mentioned in passing is actually a character in this, and one I bet no one was expecting to show up (if you did, then congratulations and please explain to me how you managed to get inside my head). Daz is... interesting to write, but I wanted to include him. Give some attention to the side characters.


	5. Heart To Hearts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff. That's all this is. Fluff with some set-up mixed in, but still mostly fluff. Be warned.

Their run-in with Daz had almost successfully distracted Jean from his original plan, which was the drag the halfa out on some wild-ghost chase that was bound to get the two of them in trouble.

Almost.

Marco let out a bored yawn. Somehow he found himself at the park after dark again, watching Jean with mild interest as the blond hung things off and around the surrounding trees. By some stroke of luck, he’d forfeited his earlier plans and remembered instead that Marco had promised to take time this weekend and try out his new power. Marco admitted silently that he did need the experience, but that didn’t mean he was particularly eager to try it out. This wasn’t harmless like his other powers and he’d be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t just a tad bit frightened of it.

Once prep work was completed, Jean rejoined Marco at his side, or as close as he could with the halfa sitting cross-legged a couple feet off the ground. Around them he’d set up a series of crude cardboard targets (“So you found your box ghost after all.” “Shut up.”), all set to different heights and distances.

“Target practice?” he asked curiously as Jean gave him a smug grin, pulling his new gun from a holster set underneath his arm- Marco did not bother to ask where he’d procured it from, the blond had all sorts of odd things like that tucked away in his room.

“I think we could both use a bit of this. You just got that power and the last gun I held was attached to an arcade machine.”

“Wow. If that’s your frame of reference then you definitely need to work on your aim.”

The younger gaped in astonishment. “Excuse me? I totally kicked your ass!”

“Jean, I _creamed_ you in that game. I nearly doubled your score!”

“That’s not how I remember it…” he grumbled.

Marco paused, taking a moment to scrutinize Jean. He folded his arms across his chest, single eyebrow rising. “Oh really now? Okay then, prove it. Hit that target way over there.” He pointed to the one that’d been placed the furthest away, swaying lazily in the cool night air.

“Maybe I will then!” Jean, not one to back down from a challenge, whipped his gun in the direction of the indicated target. He took aim carefully, staring down the sights until the mark was centered. He chewed on his tongue in concentration, squinting his eyes as he focused the angle. An index finger extended, gently pulling back on the trigger.

The blast veered to the right, missing the target entirely.

Marco burst into subdued laughter, not missing the embarrassed flush spreading to his friend’s ears. “Well let’s see you do any better!” Jean snapped and pushed at the floating halfa’s leg, offering up his prior position. Marco took it as he swallowed back the last of his chuckles.

He took in a calming breath and extended his hand in front of him. Summoning forth his powers, he forced his energy down to his fingertips and his hand alit with a purple glow. Surprised it’d worked so easily, Marco pulled back a moment to analyze his hand and the aura flickered with the loss of concentration. He brought it back to focus and extended his hand once more. Pushing the energy outward, he let the blast fly free. It missed the bull’s-eye, but scraped the top edge of the cardboard, leaving behind a scorch mark that radiated purple smoke.

“Lucky shot,” Jean groaned, detesting the satisfied grin Marco was giving him.

That lucky shot turned into several more once they actually got started, as Marco hit every single one of his targets and Jean continued to miss quite a few. Not to say that Jean was a horrible shot. Where Marco had more accuracy, at least hitting all of the targets even if he wasn’t on center most of the time, Jean actually made mostly bull’s-eyes on closer targets, but missed the further ones completely.

In the wake of their little competition they left several destroyed or damaged cardboard targets and a few snapped tree branches. “Looks like you’re not that bad a marksman after all,” Marco commented while he surveyed the aftermath. He was leaning on Jean for support since he’d expended a good deal of energy on his powers. That was another thing he needed to work on.

The look Jean gave him was doubtful. “Are you kidding? I missed so many of those.”

“That’s true, but your aim was almost perfect on the ones you did hit. You shouldn’t count yourself out just because you’re not great in every field. No one’s asking you to compete with Sasha or anything.” That would’ve been a tall order to fill, considering she’d been trained in archery from a young age and probably could’ve hit every single one of those bull’s-eyes twice over. “I gave you that incase something like the shadow ghost happens again, and you’re not going to need pin-point accuracy for that.”

Marco had a point, as usual, so Jean simply shrugged. It was obvious he was still a little disappointed over his performance, even though Marco insisted his actual targets would likely neither be that small nor that far away. The hope, of course, was that he wouldn’t have any targets at all, but precautionary measures had to be taken.

Nudging his friend, Marco told him that they needed to clean up the wreckage before somebody came across their training grounds in the morning and ran an investigation. He didn’t need for his downfall to be littering. They managed to dump all of debris in the various trash bins spread around the park and rushed back home under the cover of night once they’d concluded that their tracks were sufficiently covered.

“You did better than anyone could have asked of you on your first try,” Marco told him just as they were about to part ways for the night, sensing that he might need that last boost of confidence. “I have faith in you, but you need to take some of that for yourself. There’s almost too much to bare.” He left him with those words, but Jean went back to his apartment feeling just a bit warmer inside.

* * *

Sunday brought a nice change of pace. The whole gang decided to meet up downtown to go, in Connie’s words, “Wherever their hearts took them”. This was most likely going to be the mall, but they could pretend that they weren’t creatures of habit.

It was a noisy affair. Sasha and Connie spent the first minutes of their meeting fussing over Marco like he’d dropped off the face of the planet, even though he did still communicate with them via social media and brief hallway encounters, so it wasn’t like they _never_ heard from him.

“It’s because you’re always hogging him,” Sasha chided. “Just because you’re dating doesn’t mean you can keep all these cute freckles to yourself.” She had pulled Marco down to her height and was proceeding to squish his face so hard that those ‘cute freckles’ might’ve popped right off.

Which reminded them that they also had to clarify, once and for all, that there was no dating, secret or otherwise, going on between the two boys. It took a considerable amount of convincing and the others almost seemed disappointed with the truth. They _had_ spent the latter half of the week teasing them about their imagined relationship.

With all that out of the way, the quartet set out on their afternoon adventure around town. Most of this involved window-shopping through the small local shops because no one could agree on a place to go. Connie wanted to go for sports paraphernalia, Sasha insisted on either the bakery or one of the sweets shops, and Marco was curious to see if the thrift shop had any antiques he could potentially pick up to fiddle with; all places everyone agreed would result in them being there for ages with the other three bored out of their minds. Jean merely suggested the arcade, but the group decided that they relied on that default too often. Plus no one was really in the mood to deal with Jean’s competitive side.

In the end they did wind up at the mall, but specifically for the purpose that everyone was getting hungry and the food court offered the best selection. The teens pooled together about thirty dollars and decided to just order an assortment of items from the Chinese stall so they could pick and choose what they wanted.

Connie offered to do the actual ordering, scooping the pooled funds off the table before anyone could throw a word in edgewise. As he headed up to the food stall, the others shared hesitant glances. Connie wasn’t always the best person to leave decisions up to. “I’ll go help him,” Marco proposed and went to follow the shortest member of their group, leaving Jean and Sasha alone at the table.

The brown-haired girl set her elbows on the table, leaning forward to give Jean the _look_ ; the one that told him that she had something on her mind that he probably didn’t want to hear.

“So,” she began, folding her hands under her chin. “I’ve been asking myself this all day. If you guys seriously aren’t dating-“

“We’re not,” he groaned, not wanting to go through that song and dance again. It was annoying enough the first time.

“-then what’s actually up with Marco? You cannot expect me to believe that nothing’s wrong.” She tilted her head down, watching him expectantly through her eyelashes.

“Nothing’s ‘up’ with Marco, he’s just- stressed or something. I don’t know.”

Sasha focused an unimpressed expression on him, her eyes saying ‘Try again.’

Jean sighed, running a hand through the longer hairs on the top of his head. He risked a glace over to Marco and Connie, who were still working on those orders and didn’t appear to be returning anytime soon. He bit his lip. “Alright, but… don’t tell him you know. He doesn’t want people to fuss.” Sasha nodded, suddenly looking concerned over what he might have to tell her. “Marco got into an accident at Sina last month-“

“Oh my god! What happened? Is he okay?!” she interrupted.

“Fine. It messed up his eyes a little, but he’s okay.” Jean tapped the side of his temple, indicating the glasses the brunet wore now. “But he doesn’t want anyone to know something happened to him, so that’s why he seems a little strange lately. It shook him pretty badly.” A half-truth, but hopefully enough to satisfy her curiosity.

Sasha frowned, looking over to where the boys still stood in line. “Poor Marco. I’m a little hurt that he doesn’t want to tell us, though.”

“He didn’t tell me at first if it makes you feel any better. I found out through my mom.” He never told Marco, but he’d known about the accident before he found out about the powers. Their mothers liked to keep in contact and as soon as they brought Marco home that day, she’d called Adele to inform her that something happened, who then relayed the message on to Jean. It wasn’t until much later that he had received the text from Marco telling him that he needed to speak with him.

“It must’ve been a pretty bad accident if he won’t tell us about it,” she reasoned. “But that does explain a lot. Especially why you’ve been so quick to deny everything; you were just supporting him.”

“Right. Which is why you _can’t_ let on that you know anything.”

“Mum’s the word.” Sasha mimed locking her mouth shut and tossing away the key. The blond frowned at her, hoping for more serious response. “What, do you want me to swear on my grandmother’s grave or something? Jesus, Jean, relax. You get so protective when it comes to Marco. I mean, it’s sweet and all, but you get ridiculous with it sometimes.”

Jean scoffed, looking away from her. “I’m not being protective. I made a promise to a friend, alright!” He could feel warmth spreading to the tips of his ears.

“ _Friend_ ,” Sasha murmured, lifting up her hands to add air quotes to the statement.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Jean, Connie and I weren’t kidding when we said there's enough sexual tension between you two to choke on.” She leaned forward again, head in her hand. “We’ve considered locking you in a closet together if you don’t work something out soon.”

He turned red. “L-like you’re one to talk! What about you and Connie, huh? Because I swear you should’ve been together _years_ ago.”

She laughed. “So you’ve noticed.” He looked at her as if to say ‘Yeah, no shit, Sherlock’. The whole _school_ probably noticed by this point. “I don’t think he has. As much as I adore him, he’s… not the brightest star out there sometimes. I’d have to make-out with him before he caught on.” She spoke confidently, but her face had gone rather pink with that statement. Something told him that even she wasn’t quite bold enough to resort to that just yet.

“And yet you have the nerve to tease me about my sexual tension. Do you know how long I’ve been putting up with you two?”

Sasha smirked. “So you admit it?”

Jean realized the flaw in his phrasing. “N-no! I’m not admitting to anything.” Especially not the fact that all this talk was starting to make him question a little thing called feelings, and he specifically tried to avoid anything that had to do with that topic! He wasn’t good with all that emotional crap. “And even if I did, Marco doesn’t need me bringing emotions in and complicating everything.”

“If you say so.” She hummed suggestively and Jean adopted a confused expression. Just as he was about to question her, two trays full of food were nearly slammed on to the table, marking the return of the other half of their group.

“Alright, we got four different kinds of meat, a buttload of rice, eggro- what were you two doing?” Connie stopped listing off their menu long enough to catch the flustered looks Jean and Sasha wore.

“Nothing,” they both said quickly.

Connie regarded them suspiciously as he doled out the chopsticks, but did not press the issue. There was food to be eaten and that took priority.

The problem with sharing food within their group was that no one really knew how to share food aside from Marco. The other three liked to make a contest out of who could eat the most, which had yet to be won by anyone other than Sasha. The eldest watched with a roll of his eyes, having gathered enough to satisfy himself during the pre-competition banter that always took place. Connie and Jean had decided this time to form a truce so they could take down the champion together. Two heads- or stomachs in this case- were better than one, right?

Marco, knowing that the outcome was going to be the same, absent-mindedly chewed on the ends of his chopsticks as he looked around the food court instead. It was bustling with activity, no surprise for a Sunday afternoon, and he recognized a few of their schoolmates. He tossed a wave at Hannah and Franz, but the couple was too far away and too engrossed with each other to notice.

He shifted his gaze, noting how most of the tables were occupied at this point; they’d lucked out and gotten settled just before the lunchtime rush really began. People were still pouring in from the stores and a lot of them would likely have to find seating elsewhere.

People were actually pouring in at an alarmingly fast rate, as though they were in a huge rush. They seemed to be in a bit of a panic and down the hallway that they were coming from, Marco could make out a forest-green shimmer that was steadily getting closer.

Oh no.

The chaos finally reached the main room as the ghost charged in, a one-creature stampede along the ceiling. It was an animal spirit in the form of a huge, transparent stag. Everyone in the food court, now alerted to the danger, was in a scramble, pushing everything and everyone out of their way as they tried to make a beeline for the exit. The ruckus was proving to agitate the stag further, and it started running laps above the room, fueling even more panic in the humans.

In the confusion, Marco quickly found himself swept up into the crowd and separated from his friends. Normally, this would be a bad thing, but the havoc was proving to be the perfect cover. In the chaos, no one would notice if he suddenly disappeared and he wouldn’t have to come up with an excuse for Sasha and Connie.

Turning intangible and invisible so he could weave out of the human tsunami, Marco ducked behind a corner and let the rings of energy sweep over him. The halfa appeared above the crowd, accompanied by a few startled shrieks with the sighting of a second ghost. The stag stopped circling once it noticed him, watching warily. Animal ghosts were always tricky to deal with, because they didn’t understand that they were, in fact, ghosts and reacted as any wild animal would around humans, only with the aid of otherworldly powers. Something had driven this one out of its territory and it was going on a frightened rampage as a result.

Marco held his hands up in what he hoped was a peaceful gesture. “It’s okay, boy. I’m not here to hurt you. Calm down,” he cooed, moving closer. Nostrils flared as the stag pawed at the air, bending its antlered head down defensively. He swallowed nervously, risking moving in closer. “Easy now. Please don’t be scared.”

Too close. The stag charged and Marco dove out of the way last second to avoid getting gored by those antlers.

Well, he wasn’t getting anywhere with that tactic. He searched his surroundings for a potential solution. People were still filing out of the mall, but quite a few had stopped to watch the two ghosts curiously. An audience. _Lovely_.

Ignoring them, Marco continued to scan the room until he found something of potential use. He dove down and scooped up an abandoned plate containing a salad. He flew back up and waved it in front of the stag. “Here boy, I’ve got something for you.” Yeah it was a ghost and couldn’t eat, but it probably didn’t realize that.

The spirit’s nose twitched in interest, eyes flicking between Marco and the food. He held the plate out closer, hoping to entice it further. There was a standoff that lasted about a minute, before a cloven hoof was brought forward, followed by another. Soon, the stag was taking tentative steps toward Marco. The halfa remained perfectly still, afraid that even the slightest movement could frighten the ghost and send it tearing off again.

The stag had reached the target now, pulling out a single leaf from the plate. It chewed silently, shredded pieces of lettuce fluttering down from its mouth from the ghost’s inability to eat, but it didn’t seem to notice. With it thoroughly enticed, Marco slowly floated backwards and the spirit followed, led by the food. Perfect, now if he could just lure it out of mall…

A red beam shot through the air, narrowly missing both ghosts. The stag reared back in alarm and charged ahead. Marco only had a split second to react and he veered out of the way, wrapping his arms around the stag’s neck as it passed in an attempt to regain control of the situation.

Below, the police had finally arrived to combat the crisis, though their tactic of ‘shoot at the thing until it stops moving’ was only making matters worse. The ghost was agile and between dodging shots and trying to throw Marco off its back, it wouldn’t be too long before it went completely berserk under the stress.

Knowing he had to act quickly before things got out of hand, Marco swung his legs around so he was riding bareback on the rampaging stag. He reached forward and, murmuring an apology, grabbed a hold of its antlers. It bucked in terror, but Marco held tight. Another blast whisked past his head, so close he could feel the heat coming off it. With strength he didn’t realize he possessed, he steered the ghost’s head to the left using his hold on its antlers. Its body followed the action, continuing to gallop in the new direction. He pulled back this time and it reluctantly decelerated to a panicked trot, hopping out of the way of any blasts that came too close.

Now knowing he could steer, the halfa took a moment to formulate his plan. The quickest way out was, of course, through the furthest wall, and they had to get past the armed cops in order to reach that. He didn’t think he could get the stag to run upwards through the ceiling since pulling back only seemed to slow it down.

Marco pushed forward, urging the stag into a run again. They weaved through the red beams -Marco winced as one caught his shoulder, but he didn’t have time to attend to it- picking up speed with each stride. The two ghosts burst intangibly through the wall, the crowd gasping as they appeared. Marco let go once they got away from the mall, letting the stag run off without him. It slowed down when it felt the foreign presence leave, coming to an eventual stop.

The ghost turned its head, green eyes considering the halfa. Then, slowly, it bowed its head. Marco stared in stunned silence, then fumbled to return the unexpected gesture. When he lifted his head again, the stag was already on its way, headed back to the forest that lay just off the boundary of the town.

He watched it leave, before he realized he was still floating out in the open and drawing a good deal of attention to himself. Marco cast a sheepish look to the spectators before he vanished to find a nice secluded place where he could become human again.

The rest of the group had already gathered when Marco managed to locate them again in the crowd. Sasha and Connie were on him in an instant, crushing the poor boy in a group hug as they told him how worried they had been.

“Sorry, I got swept away by the crowd and it took me a while to get through them,” he explained, trying to free himself from their death grip. He glanced up to Jean, who had opted to not join in the plot to squish the halfa. The blond threw him a knowing smile and gave a thumbs up. He’d been hoping for some assistance, but the praise was appreciated too.

Once the duo decided he’d been sufficiently smushed, they let go. Marco moved to stretch out his arms, but flinched visibly when he moved his left shoulder, pain shooting through his injury.

“You okay?” Connie asked.

“Y-yeah.” He grimaced. “I got pushed around pretty badly and hit my shoulder on something.” Sasha and Connie seemed content with that, but Marco could feel Jean’s gaze lingering on him. He mouthed that he would explain later.

Not ones to let a little ghost excitement put a damper on their day out, the quartet set off to find new adventure elsewhere. Sasha lamented over the loss of their lunch in the ruckus and the boys realized that they didn’t get the chance to finish their competition either (Marco sighed and rolled his eyes. It was hard being the only sane one sometimes). They compensated by getting ice cream cones. To tease Connie, Sasha went about eating hers in the most suggestive way possible and only relented when he threatened to eat her ice cream himself if she didn’t.

They doubled back to do a quick swing-by of the mall to investigate the aftermath. The cops moved in fast, blocking off the attacked area from civilians while Sina researchers did their work. The teens were shooed away when they tried to sneak a closer look, but Marco did spot a few of his parents’ coworkers fumbling over their equipment. He shied away before any of them took notice of him, either visually or with the scanners- he still didn’t know if those could track him in human form and he wasn’t about to experiment. No sign of his parents, but they would’ve called if anything came up.

After another hour or so of aimless wandering, they concluded that the town had been sufficiently explored for one afternoon and called it a day. Marco and Jean bid farewell to their friends and the two pairs went their separate ways. Jean’s apartment was the destination this time, since they’d mostly been at Marco’s lately. Mrs. Kirschstein was working on dinner when they came in and she made a passing comment about how her ‘second son’ had come back as well before the two disappeared into Jean’s room.

Marco shrugged off his light jacket and claimed the edge of the bed, propping himself against the footboard while he looked around the busy room. Jean was always changing around his décor; the walls were so plastered with posters, drawings, and sketches that Marco wasn’t even sure what the color of the wall underneath was anymore. He thinks it might’ve been blue.

His sights shifted over to the owner of the room, who was watching the halfa with an odd expression on his face. “What?”

“Shirt off. Now.”

Marco flushed positively scarlet. “W-what! Why?!”

“Because I want to see what happened to your shoulder.”

Ah. He’d hoped Jean would forget about that little detail. “Does that _really_ require me being half naked?”

“Yes, it does actually. It’s your fault for wearing long-sleeved shirts all the damn time.”

“It’s cold!” he insisted. Plus he liked long-sleeved shirts, though his opinion of them was wavering at the moment if it meant Jean was going to force him to strip down.

Jean’s arms folded across his chest. He was not flinching on this. “But…” Marco frowned, eyes set to the floor in front of him. His hands gripped at the bottom of his shirt, nervously tugging at the fabric.

“Boy, I have seen you shirtless. I’ve seen you _naked_ before. You think I care?”

“Well no one asked you to barge in on me in the shower,” he grumbled, reluctantly tugging his shirt off over his head.

“You were taking too long.” But Jean’s breath hitched in his throat once his eyes actually fell onto Marco. He had seen the other boy without a shirt in the past, but not often. It was usually the result of Jean barging in on him changing, to which he would be promptly kicked out, so he never really… looked at him before. Had Marco always been toned?! He wasn’t super built or anything, but enough suggest that he was somewhat athletic; the kind of figure that those goofy sweaters the brunet liked to wear hid entirely. Jean’s throat suddenly felt dry. Quick, he needed a distraction before his mind went somewhere he didn’t want it to.

The ugly, red burn on Marco’s shoulder filled the role nicely. “Holy shit, Marco, this looks _nasty_.”

Marco looked for himself, grimacing at the raw wound. It did look quite nasty now that he’d said so. “It doesn’t hurt anymore?” he offered, not wanted Jean to worry. His healing had already come into affect, noticeable around the edges where the flesh had started to mend, though it did little for the overall appearance.

“And that ghost did that to you?” Jean murmured, almost in disbelief. Could the stag shoot beams like Marco, but out of its antlers instead?

Marco adopted a sheepish look. “Actually… I got hit by one of those rifles…”

Jean slammed his hands down on the footboard, startling Marco and causing him to loose balance and fall backwards onto the bed. “Are you serious! _That’s_ what those weapons can do to you?” Marco didn’t answer, shyly folding his arms over his bare chest. The blond sighed, running a hand through his light bangs. “First the accident and now this. I swear Sina’s out to get you lately.”

He laughed humorlessly. “Hey, my parents still work there, it’s not all bad.”

“Oh really?” Jean crossed his arms. “Besides that, name one good thing that place has done for you.”

“Well…” the halfa scratched at the tip of nose. “We came to Trost because of it and… I got to meet you.”

Jean could feel his face heating up and Marco was sporting a flush of his own. He had his head ducked down slightly, looking up at the younger boy from his spot on the bed with a shy smile. He stared back at the freckled teen for what felt like a millennium (it was really only a few seconds), the earlier words of a certain female friend echoing in the back of his mind.

Marco was the one to break eye contact, stuttering as he fumbled to pull his shirt back on. “A-and of course Sasha and Connie and my friends in my grade…” The shirt was back on at this point, but he risked one last glance at Jean while the collar was still pulled up over his mouth, mumbling something that was muffled by the fabric.

“…what was that?”

He pulled his head completely through the shirt. “Nothing. I said nothing.”

“Oh no, don’t pull that on me. You definitely mumbled something just now.”

“I don’t what you’re talking about, you must be hearing things.” Marco went to adjusting his clothing the rest of the way, tugging his sleeves back down to his wrists.

Jean was silent, but a wicked grin was slowly spreading to his face. The elder looked up from where he was pulling the bottom of his shirt over his mid-drift because of the lack of noise and froze in horror. “Oh no. No, no, no. I know what you’re planning.” He began scooting backwards, though with some difficulty due to the sheets.

The blond pounced, pinning Marco down as he dug his fingers into his exposed sides. He burst into a strangled laughter, trying his hardest to push his friend off him under the onslaught. His visibility flickered in and out, but he was not in any state to even _think_ about getting a hold on his powers.

“Come on, tell me!”

“N-no… J-jeaaan…. sto-op it…” he whined, curling in on himself in an attempt to protect his weak spots. His attempts were futile and Jean was unrelenting in his attack. He had the brunet pinned firmly between his thighs, preventing any hope of escape as he carried out the torture.

“Marcooo… Tell meeee…”

“I do-on’t wa… Jean! C-cu-haha… cut it o-out!” He was trembling with laughter at this point and Jean was in the middle of considering letting him off easy and switching to another interrogation tactic when his door flew open.

“Marco, dear, are you staying for dinner or…” Adele trailed off, processing the scene unfolding before her eyes. The two of them, both on the bed, Jean straddling Marco’s lap while the latter was slightly out of breath with his shirt pushed up to his chest. The boys looked at each other and, realizing the compromising situation they had been found in, all but flew away from each other, Marco pulling down his shirt the rest of the way.

“Mom! I told you not to just barge into my room like that!”

She leaned on the doorframe with a smug smirk, twirling a wooden spoon in one hand. “Honestly, if you’re going to be doing things like that at least put a sock on the door. I thought I taught you better than that.”

“IT’S NOT WHAT YOU THINK I SWEAR!”

But she was already walking away, laughing. As her voice faded into the distance, they heard her say “Just wait until Isabella hears about this.”

The two risked a glance at each other, but the embarrassment so overwhelming that they immediately looked away again. “I-I think I should head home now,” Marco stammered, fumbling to gather himself. Jean reached for his jacket, which was resting by his leg, to hand to the older teen just as he went for it himself. Their hands met and they froze. Jean swallowed and hazarded meeting his eyes again, but Marco was already snatching his jacket away and making a dash for the door. The poor boy’s face was so red it was a wonder he didn’t pass out. “See you later Jean, I’ll text you tonight!” he said quickly as he disappeared out of sight. He heard Marco bid a hasty farewell to his mother before the door shut, signaling his departure.

He released a deflating sigh and fell to his back. He idly wondered if she was actually going to tell Marco’s mother what she had caught their boys doing. What she _thought_ she had caught them doing, anyway. Because they most certainly were not doing anything that would require hanging a sock off the doorknob.

But what if they had been? His traitorous mind planted the idea and he immediately found himself forcing away the recent memories. Hands flew up to muffle his groans of frustration as Jean came to a single conclusion.

Sasha just might be right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're all just dumb teens who don't know how to feelings basically.
> 
> Marco muttered "but mostly you" btw.


	6. Secrets Revealed

“You ready?”

“No, I’m not, Jean. And I still think this is a horrible idea!”

“Oh come on, what could possibly go wrong?”

A lot, actually. Marco groaned silently, tailing after his friend. Over the past couple of days he had taken up patrolling at night to deal with the sudden increase in supernatural activity. Jean was… helping, for the most part. They had yet to encounter anything that the halfa couldn’t handle on his own, so the blond was tagging along mostly for moral support. He was staying out of danger at least, so Marco could deal with the circumstances.

What he _couldn’t_ deal with was Jean leading them into a potential situation that was shooting up red flags of warning no matter what angle Marco looked at it in.

Earlier that evening they had stumbled across a dream-eater; a small, lower level spirit known for feeding on dreams and leaving nightmares in their stead. They weren’t overly dangerous if dealt with quickly, but they were sneaky and the duo had spent a good hour or two trying to track it down before it caused any more trouble.

Which led to the current problem, because the chase had brought them too close for comfort to the last place Marco wanted to be at the moment: Sina Labs.

“Come _on_ , Marco. It’s gonna get away if we don’t hurry. You still have a fix on it, right?”

“Yeah, but…” Marco could see the sliver of dark blue darting around from their vantage point a top a hill, hovering dangerously close to the wall that surrounded the facility. He hung back, letting Jean move ahead without him. “Maybe we should just let them handle it.”

The blond stopped, looking over his shoulder. “What! Weren’t you the one who said we had to take care of this quickly before it became an actual threat?” The problem with dream-eaters was that they also drew strength from devouring dreams. Let one feed for too long and it has the potential to become a serious force of reckoning.

“I know, I know. It’s just…” He bit his lip. So many things could go wrong now that they were this close to the labs. They were sure to notice if two ghosts started to do battle in the vicinity and Jean could easily get caught in the crossfire. To add to the stakes, his parents were working that night, and what was stopping them from getting involved either? And they would surely recognize Jean in a heartbeat, if not Marco himself-he might look a little different, but these were his parents. They would notice the similarities between the ghost and their son. He was lucky that ghosts didn't show up well on camera or they would've recognized him from the few pictures the press had managed to snap of him.

“Marco.” Jean approached him, placing his hands on either side of the halfa’s face so he was forced to make eye contact. He smiled. “Stop worrying. I’d tell you you’re gonna go grey from the stress, but it’s a little late for that.” Marco rolled his eyes, a smile finding its way to his face. “Look, you don’t have to go anywhere near there. I’ll run down, chase it back to you and we’ll take care of it here.”

“But that’s still dangerous!” Marco protested. “What if they-“

“Hey, I’m human. They don’t give a rat’s ass about me lurking around,” he interrupted. “Besides, I’m wearing all black, I’m like a _ninja_. They won’t see a thing.” Jean threw his hood up over his head in demonstration and freed his gun from it’s holster. Before Marco could throw in any more objections, mainly over the fact that the overhead lights along the wall rendered his ninja strategy useless, the blond was already charging down the hill to confront their target.

The eel-like ghost immediately took notice, darting away in panic as Jean launched a few well-placed shots in its direction. His aim was clearly improving with practice, but the phantom was a narrow target to hit and easily weaved around the blue charges. It was at least weaving away from the wall, seeking cover in the trees on the hill, where Marco waited in tense anticipation, praying noting went awry with this plan. As it neared, Marco fired off a purple shot of his own, grazing the ridge of its back. The dream-eater skidded in the air, now trapped between two armed parties on either side. It weighed its options and took the only sensible option it could reason on the spot.

It dove straight into the ground.

“Fuck! Where’d it go?” Jean ran up to the spot it disappeared, glaring at the ground.

“I don’t know, I can’t see it anymore.”

“What? Not even with your aura thing?”

“I can walk through solid objects, Jean, not see through them.”

“Well… shit.” He stalked up the rest of the hill so he was at least standing on a flat surface. “Now what?”

“We wait. Ghosts can’t stay intangible inside something for too long. It’ll have to come out soon.”

No sooner had he spoken those words, the dream-eater burst out of the ground. Only this time it wasn’t alone. It slithered up through the air, eyes burning white, followed by a huge, black mass, ogre-like with long spines protruding from its back. The darkness split to reveal a void of purple and green and it roared, causing the boys in instinctively step back.

“Marco… what is that thing?”

“ _That_ is why you can’t let a dream-eater feed too much. They can manifest nightmares. Crap, it must’ve been active a while before we went after it.”

The nightmare roared again and brought its arm down with a heavy thud, leaving an imprint in the ground. Marco leapt up into the air, shouting down to Jean. “I’ll distract it, you go after the dream-eater! If we can break it’s concentration, the nightmare will disappear.”

It was easier said than done. While Marco fired blasts, circling around the nightmare’s head like a mosquito, Jean attempted to duck around it where he could a could aim at the summoner. However, it was wise to their plans and swatted away the halfa to deal with the more immediate threat. Marco was tossed back into one of the trees, branches snapping under the force of the impact.

A massive arm swept down again, narrowing missing Jean, who rolled out of the way last minute. The nightmare was looming over him, gaping jaws wide open as though it desired to swallow him up. Well, he wasn’t going to give it that chance. He fired a well-placed shot into the void and it reared back, howling. Several blind swings were made at Jean in pained fury and the blond dodged back further, cursing to himself as each move brought him further away from the source of the problem.

Marco was back in the fight now, leaves flying out of his hair as he approached. He made his own attempt at the dream-eater, which was floating behind its conjured monstrosity. He summoned forth more energy than before and launched an attack, but the shot was blocked by a bulbous arm, blasting a hole right through the creature’s body. The darkness around it shuddered and spread in to fill the gap. No good, they needed to get the nightmare away from its master if they had any hope of ending this battle.

Blue beams peppered the side of its head, drawing its attention back to the sole human in the fight. It roared once more, taking a step towards Jean, but Marco retaliated with his own offensive on the other side. The nightmare spun around and Jean made a bolt for it, scampering back as the movement caught its attention and it stomped the ground hard enough to send out a small shockwave.

The ghost and its minion were at an impasse. Both teenagers were too much to keep up with. As soon as one attacked, the other would make a break for the dream-eater and it would need to shift focus again. The nightmare kept looking back and forth between the two, body shuddering under the pressure until it managed to turn its head both directions at the same time.

More accurately, it’s body suddenly split down the middle, pulling apart like goo. It separated into two beings, both smaller copies of the original. One for each. Marco was relatively safe, it seemed that the beast was earthbound, so he could continue to launch his assault from the air, though any attempts at the master were still blocked. Jean was not as lucky. Not only did he have the nightmare’s undivided attention, but its smaller size meant it was also faster and the first thing it did was charge the blond. He quickly ran out of its way, firing off more shots behind him. The decrease in size also seemed to make it more susceptible to his attacks, stumbling back with each hit.

Jean dashed around, weaving to avoid being caught by the smaller nightmare. He couldn’t get a clear shot out if he had to keep dodging around like this. He turned again, getting an idea. He charged towards its twin, which was still being distracted by Marco, with his own playmate still hot on his heels. With a bound, he jumped on the second’s back, immediately losing his balance and tumbling to the ground. He hadn’t expected the gelatinous consistency of its skin. His plan, however, still worked. The beast that had been chasing him crashed headfirst into its sibling. They merged halfway from the impact, stumbling in a disoriented manner.

“Jean!” Marco exclaimed worriedly, but the blond was already back on his feet.

“Shoot now, talk later!” he shouted, looking around for the source of the madness. The dream-eater had retreated further away, squirming frantically as it tried to regain control of its nightmares. He gritted his teeth, aiming carefully. He only had one shot at this.

Behind him he could hear disgruntled roars and Marco’s shouts of panic, but he had to focus. He lined up his shot and let it fly free.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion in that moment. Just as he pulled the trigger, something gold streaked past him. His own shot hit the dream-eater dead center and it squealed as it dropped out of the sky. Jean spun around, just in time to catch the nightmare, still half-formed, skidding backwards away from him. It began to flicker, roaring in anger one last time before it disappeared from existence.

Marco floated down to ground level, a stunned look absorbing his features, and Jean came over to give his a congratulatory clap on the shoulder, grinning from ear to ear.

“Did you see that?! Perfect shot!”

“I’m proud of you, Jean, but-“

“And you! Nice save just now. Since when do you have gold energy blasts?”

“I don’t.”

A shadow fell over them and both boys followed it to the source, where a tall, intimidating woman was standing over them, one hand on her hip, the other clutching a stunned dream-eater.

Marco didn’t even need to register her golden-yellow aura to know that she was not human. She had grey skin, pointed elfish ears, and dark hair that fell to her shoulders, flowing on a non-existent breeze. She was dressed in light grey pants and black knee-high boots- very similar to the Sina uniform, but off color, with just a blue-grey tank-top covering her upper body. Like Marco, her face was covered in freckles that glowed faintly in the color of her ectosignature, spreading down her neck and to her uncovered shoulders. Gold, pupil-less eyes stared them down in amusement, made even more intense by the darkness that surrounded them, black where white should have been.

Jean narrowed his eyes. “Who’re you?”

“I’m the one who just saved you from being a snack for that nightmare. And I don’t hear any thanks for that, by the way.” She grinned, showing off a set of sharp, shark-like teeth.

“We could’ve handled it ourselves,” Jean scoffed, scowling at the female, but Marco elbowed him in the side.

“Thank you,” he said for him, not taking his eyes off this strange ghost. It was unusual for her to step in and help in the first place, what with there being a human present. Especially so close to the labs. But, besides that, there was just something… off about her, but Marco could not quite place it. “But may I ask who you are… and why you’re here?” he gestured to the labs, giving her a concerned look.

“Uh… I live here? Duh. And you two have been making such a racket out here that I’m surprised none of those eggheads noticed.”

But that only made Marco even more confused. How could a ghost live in Sina, a facility built specifically to combat the ghost problem Trost faced? And how could he have never known about it in the three years that his parents worked there? Was she part of some secret government program?

He heard the female ghost laugh. “You look so confused right now.”

He looked back up her. She was smirking amusedly, twirling the dream-eater by its tail. “I just don’t understand. How-“

“-can a ghost live in a ghost-hunting lab?” she finished. “Same way a halfa can be the kid of people who work in those labs.”

The two teens gaped at each other and turned to her in disbelief, speaking simultaneously.

“You know about me?”

"You know about him?"

She rolled her eyes as though it were the most obvious thing in the world (Which Marco sincerely hoped it wasn’t), but she was cut off before she could open her mouth to elaborate.

“Ymir!” a voice called. They all turned to find a petite girl with long, blonde hair heading up the hill towards them, clutching a duffle bag that hung off her shoulder. Bright blue eyes scanned the scene once she had reached them, falling to Marco last.

Marco gasped slightly as he recognized her face. “Aren’t you…”

She turned back to the taller woman before he could finish his thought. “So you were right, it _is_ him.”

“Of course I was right. Did you find the jar?”

“I found _a_ jar,” the blonde answered, pivoting her body so the ghost- Ymir- could unzip the bag with her free hand. “I had to snag one out of one of the labs since I don’t know what you did with the one we were using.”

“Eh, it’ll turn up.” The bag now open, she pulled out a large glass jar with an odd looking lid. Marco had seen a couple around before; they used them as containment units for smaller specimens. The other girl popped the lid off and Ymir brought her other arm around and deposited the still stunned dream-eater within. The lid was snapped back on and it immediately filled with a green gas. “There we go. Suppression gas. You won’t have to worry about this little bastard now,” Ymir explained, taking the bag away from her companion so she could repack the container.

“That’s not the ghost we’re worried about anymore,” Jean murmured to the halfa, eying the two girls suspiciously. Marco gave him a light jab with his elbow.

“Don’t be rude,” he whispered back. “They did just help us.”

“What’re you two whispering about?”

The boys jumped in alarm, turning briskly to face the other two. “Sorry, we’re just very confused,” Marco admitted. “You seem to know a lot about me and I’ve never even _seen_ you before. And you…” He glanced to the blonde. “Aren’t you Historia Reiss? The mayor’s daughter?”

“Please, call me Krista,” she said. “I only go by Historia in formal settings.” She pulled a face that hinted that there might be another reason, but the boys didn’t press it. Krista clapped her hands together. “Now, I think we all have some things to discuss. Let’s head inside, someone might see us if we stay on this hill.”

Marco swallowed a lump in his throat, apprehensive of this new plan. “Um… does inside mean the labs?”

Ymir gave him a ‘no-fucking-duh’ look, but Krista was the one to speak. “Oh don’t worry, you’ll be fine. We have a place we can talk where no one will ever know you’re there.”

“Yeah, just turn you and your boyfriend here invisible and follow us.”

Jean, blushing, moved to protest, but Marco gave him a gentle nudge and the blond relented when he caught a glimpse of the worried look on his face. He was not keen on going into Sina, especially with his parents working that night. However, he had burning questions that these girls seemed willing to answer if they came along, so there was not much choice in the matter. He offered a gloved hand and Jean, blush darkening, begrudgingly took it. Marco turned them both invisible, feeling Jean squeeze his hand harder as if to confirm for himself that the halfa was still there.

“Ready?” Krista inquired.

They both nodded at first before realizing she couldn’t see it.

“Yup.”

“I sure hope so…”

“Good.” The blonde smiled and, with Ymir at her side, led them down the hill towards the facility.

As they rounded the corner to the front entrance, Ymir suddenly joined them in invisibility, leaving Krista to walk in seemingly alone.

A few workers were straggling near the entrance when she came in and they jumped to attention, offering her their pleasantries. She nodded politely and continued on her way, followed closely by her three invisible companions, who were doing their best not to run into passer-byes or one another.

As they progressed through the halls, people continued to go out of their way to greet Krista. Marco knew he had seen her before on a few rare occasions, but he hadn’t realized until now just how important she was in Sina. It made sense, considering her father technically owned and funded the labs, though he never directly involved himself with any of the proceedings.

The small woman made her way to the elevator, making sure there were no additional passengers. She moved to the keypad and, instead to hitting one of the upper floors, entered in a strange code. The lift shuddered to life and began to move. The two lights above the door that normally read ‘2’ and ‘3’ changed, now displaying ‘B1’ and ‘B2’.

“There’s a basement?!” Marco suddenly exclaimed. In three years he had never known this fact.

“You bet your ass there is,” Ymir replied, folding her arms smugly. She had become visible again. “You two might wanna stay like that ‘til we get to the room.”

The lift came to a stop at the upper basement level and the doors slid open with a chime. They stepped out into a brightly lit corridor ad Marco let out a tiny gasp.

The whole place had a very different ambience to it than Sina Labs proper. Everything had that sterile laboratory feel, which was reserved only for the actual labs upstairs. Offices and corridors were homier, often decorated by clutter and the few odd posters and drawings, oftentimes scientific in nature but the occasional motivation poster or hobby-based decorum slipped its way in. Down here, everything was white tiles and blank, concrete walls. It felt more like a prison than a research lab.

Ymir slid the bag off her shoulder and tossed it unceremoniously at the first researcher they saw, who fumbled to catch it. “There, go knock yourself out with that,” she commented, giving her a dismissing wave.

People continued to pass by them as they made their way down the hallway. Most of them, Marco had seen upstairs over the years, but there were entirely new faces mixed in. They all greeted Krista and Ymir in a polite fashion, though there was some reluctance for the latter. She smiled in response, a menacing grin made only worse by her sharp teeth and the scientists scuttled by, shooting dark looks at the ghost over their shoulder. Looks like someone was popular.

“Really Ymir, must you do that? You could’ve changed by now.”

“Nah, I like freaking them out.” She laced her fingers behind her head, flashing Krista the same sharp-toothed grin. She sighed in exasperation.

Krista brought them to the far end of the floor, where a single closed door stood. To the side there was a keypad, where she entered in a passcode to allow the door to slide open. This was another thing that differed from upstairs. They had similar style doors, but none of them had coded locks. Unless locked from the inside, you merely had to press a key to enter a room. She ushered them all inside and shut the door once she was absolutely sure the two invisible members of the party were present.

“Alright, you’re good now.” With her clearance, Jean separated from Marco, who dropped the invisibility act. They glanced briefly at each other, slightly pink in the face.

The room they were in was a pleasant change from the rest of the basement level. The walls were painted in a dull red and the floor covered by a simple black area rug. One wall was occupied by a pullout couch, the adjacent by a wooden desk and chair. A wardrobe was shoved in one of the corners and a few posters adorned the wall, of bands that hadn’t been relevant in nearly a decade.

Jean furrowed his brows. “It looks like someone actually _lives_ here.”

“Yeah, I do,” Ymir responded, spreading herself on the couch with a stretch. “Gotta shove me somewhere where I can’t terrorize the workers all day. Krista hangs out here too, when she’s running errands for the old man.”

Krista shook her head, pushing the ghost’s feet off of the sofa so she could take a seat beside her. The boys went to occupy the only remaining seating, Jean perched on the edge of the desk while Marco took the chair beside it.

“Now, I think some proper introductions are in order. I’m Krista, I handle some of the administrative work around here in my father’s place. Ymir-“ she grunted as the other female adjusted her position, leaning on the blonde while she dangled her feet off the side of the couch. “-assists me. Sometimes. She’s somewhat of the lab’s deep, dark secret.”

“Upstairs people don’t even know I exist,” she announced proudly.

“I’m Marco. My parents work here at Sina and I caused an accident when I was helping them that… well…” He gestured to himself. “Halfa. Jean here’s my best friend. He’s the only person I told about this, so I’m curious as to how you two found out.”

“Well I knew about the accident, first off. I know pretty much everything that goes on here,” Ymir answered. “There was so much talk for a few days, mostly about ethics if a co-worker or their family died and became a ghost. They stopped after they learned you were fine, but they might have to implement something now that the idea’s out there.”

“Great,” Marco mumbled. That was a comforting thought, though it did mean that no one else knew his secret beside these two girls. Which was good, because that had been a huge concern of his.

“But I knew something else was up,” Ymir continued. “The other ghosts had been whispering about how a halfa had appeared, so there must’ve been a connection. I didn’t know for sure until you showed up here a week- two weeks ago? You suck at repressing your ectosignature when you’re not human, by the way. A ghost could sense you from half a mile away.” Marco’s mouth formed an ‘o’ shape. He didn’t realize that was an issue, much less one he had any control over.

“Ymir told me her thoughts and we’d been hoping to find a chance to talk to you. We got that tonight when Ymir sensed the fight outside and recognized you mixed in with it.”

“Wait, wait, wait. You could just _sense_ Marco? After that one time?” Jean questioned, giving the freckled female a suspicious glare.

She scowled back at him. “Because his signature has a different _feel_ to it than regular ghosts. A hell of a lot stronger too. Seriously, repression. Work on it.”

“Uh…” He didn’t even know where to begin with that.

“Oh, and I suppose _you_ can?”

Ymir grinned wickedly. “I can do a lot more than that, _Jeanny-boy.”_ The blond scowled. “Whattaya think, Krista? Should I show them?”

She nodded her head. “I think that’s a good idea. It’d put us all on more equal ground.”

Smirking, Ymir pushed off the couch and Marco could see her aura wavering as she drew on whatever power they were alluding to.

She didn’t transform like Marco. It was more like her ghostly appearance was melting off. Her skin regained a light tan hue, her hair tamed itself into a ponytail, and the freckles lost their glow. The black and gold ebbed away from her eyes, replaced by a normal pair with light brown irises. The yellow aura was lost in the process, completing the illusion, though Marco could still detect heavy traces of it on the girl beside her. They must spend a lot of time together.

Then the realization hit. “You’re a halfa too?!”

She laughed, falling back to the sofa. “I wish! Wouldn’t that just solve all my problems. No, I’m a special case; I can disguise myself as a human. ‘S why they keep me here.” Something in her tone suggested that that was not entirely true, but Marco was not in any position to interrogate her for the whole story.

“So… you’re like a shapeshifter?” Jean asked.

“I’m no more a shapeshifter than your buddy is. Only got the two forms, though I hear there’s an actual one that’s been giving people trouble lately.” Marco blinked. Weren’t his parents working with that case?

“So, is that why you wanted to talk to us?”

The blonde shook her head. “Not entirely. We wanted you to know that we’re here to help you. You may not think it, because you’ve been around here for so long, but Sina is a serious threat to you now, especially the kind of work they do here in the basement. We don’t want to see you caught up in any of it.” It was a subtle gesture, but Marco noticed the way that her hand moved to touch Ymir’s when she spoke those words.

“And I can help you with those powers of yours, since I doubt you can control them yet. Took me _ages_ after I died to get used it, and I bet yours are similar to mine. Tell me, can you do this yet?” She thrust her arms forward, forming a transparent shield of golden energy in front of her body.

The two boys gaped in awe. “No,” Marco replied, looking down at his own hands. He repeated the action, trying to replicate it to no avail.

“Alright Violet, calm down. You can try it out later,” she chuckled, bringing down her shield with a wave of her hand. Marco pouted, both at his failure to produce a shield and his new apparent nickname. At least it was better than _Trost-pera._

With all that out of the way, they decided it would best for the boys to start getting home before their parents realized they were missing. They quickly traded contact information and then Krista showed them the way back out, employing the invisibility tactic once again (Jean made a brief complaint about the handholding, but Marco informed him that was the easiest way for him. Thankfully no one could tell how red-faced they were when invisible).

They bid them farewell outside the perimeter wall, promising to keep tabs if anything important came up. They gave the two girls their thanks and set off for the journey back home, both agreeing that they had had more than enough excitement for one night.

* * *

The days pushed further into October and Marco was becoming more visibly stressed with the passing of time. Ghost activity was picking up and, while they were small, isolated incidents, the sheer number of them was taking its toll on Marco. Sleep had become a bit of a luxury, so staying awake during the day was even harder than usual. He had developed heavy bags below his eyes, which, while well hidden behind glasses to most people, those close to the halfa were well aware of. He cooked up an excuse that he was coming down with something that even Jean, who _knew_ what was going on, would’ve believed because, quite frankly, he looked ill due to the fatigue.

They hadn’t visited Krista or Ymir since that fateful night, but the girls were well aware of the situation. Ymir couldn’t offer much aid because she couldn’t wander far from the labs (for reasons she did not care to explain), but she took care of anything nearby so Marco didn’t have to and the blonde kept them posted on the movements of the labs. Sina was more active as a direct result of the increased activity and Krista told them exactly where people were going to be set up and when so the halfa and his friend could avoid any unnecessary confrontations. Marco was thankful for the heads-up. Ever since the incident at the mall, Marco’s activities had been a hot topic for town gossip and the police force was keeping a special eye out for him, wary of this strange white-haired ghost with no clear patterns or motivation. He’d already been shot by them once and it was an experience he would gladly not repeat.

Marco could’ve taken a break and let Sina employees and the police handle the town, as Jean suggested, tired of watching his friend push himself too hard. He did his best to help out, but the halfa could cover ground faster _and_ track where ghosts were, so Jean’s contributions were only a small aid.

And Marco would have listened, if these were just the normal sightings that Trost was used to. However, the supernatural activity had been veering on the more aggressive side as of late and Marco knew it would be a little too much for them to handle. Krista’s information alone made that obvious. They had enough trouble when it happened last year, and the year before (And probably the year before that, but Marco had not come to Trost yet and had no frame of reference). This year was already shaping up to be worse than the prior two, and it was going to continue to spiral downhill due to one simple fact.

It was almost Halloween.

True to the legends, All Hallows Eve was indeed when the boundary between the spirit world and the human world was at its weakest and nowhere was this more prevalent than Trost, where that veil was already fairly thin. Ghosts became bolder, freely moving about alongside humans- who were less than appreciative of the additional company- and normally docile ones often became panicked or violent. Daz was an example of the former, since the shift kept him more rooted to the physical realm, and some of Marco’s time was dedicated to keeping the poltergeist from disturbing the entire complex.

This was why, for the sixth day in a row, they were running patrols as soon as they found the free time. Today happened to be right after school. Another side affect of the time of the year was that daytime sightings became more common.

“Seriously Marco, can't we take today off? You’re gonna pass out from exhaustion and Halloween’s _tomorrow_. Don’t we need to be rested when all hell breaks loose?” Jean spoke into a headset as he rode his motor scooter around town, looking for any commotion. The duo had split up to cover more ground, but were keeping contact wirelessly so they could alert the other immediately if something happened.

 _“You can go home, you know. It’s my problem, not yours,”_ Marco said from the other line. He had left the residential areas to Jean, where he wouldn’t arouse suspicion, while he took patrol of the outer parts of the city. This way he wouldn’t have to expend excess energy on maintaining invisibility.

“Newsflash, your problems _are_ my problems. It’s in the bestfriend handbook.”

 _“Is it now?”_ He could almost hear Marco rolling his eyes. _“I must’ve missed that passage.”_

“Yup, right next to the part on ‘Shut up, I’m helping whether you like it or not’.”

Marco sighed. There was really no point in arguing with him. “ _Have you seen anything on your end?”_

“Uh… unless plastic cutouts with dumbass expressions count, no.” Jean frowned at the gaudy decorations that surrounded him. Despite being a stressful time of the year for residents of Trost, Halloween was a strongly celebrated holiday. Many people believed that the spooky icons would help deter wayward spirits and decorated with fervor. It worked, to a certain extent. Weaker and by extension, often dumber ghosts were wary of the figures and avoided the potential conflict with another supernatural being. Those that knew better either ignored the decorations entirely or figured that humans who were foolish enough to erect them in the first place were not worth the trouble.

They still left a lot of work for Marco and Jean, because the opposite could also happen. Some got even more aggressive because of the Halloween décor and went on rampages as a result. Some shied away and hid in secluded places to wait in ambush. These were the one’s Marco was looking out for, because they often proved to be the most problematic.

“Krista was right again, by the way.” Jean spoke up. A few officers had sped past him on motorcycles, disappearing around the corner. “They have started doing patrols. Either that or something happened. I think I’m gonna try and follow.”

The halfa groaned. _“Jean, don’t. Let them-“_

The feed on the other end suddenly trailed off. Jean gave his earpiece a few taps to check if it was still functioning. “Marco?”

_“Huh? Sorry, I just… thought I saw something…”_

He brought his scooter to a slow halt, stopping at the curb. “Where are you?”

 _“Uh…”_ He went silent again for a few moments. _“Near that big field where all the local teams practice during summer.”_

Jean pulled up a mental map. He wasn’t particularly far from there, but he would have to take a roundabout route because of his vehicle.

 _“No wait, I **do**_ _see something, it’s…”_ Marco let out a sudden yelp and Jean heard the rushing of air past the mic as the halfa’s speed must have suddenly increased. There was a slight rumbling in the background that the blond couldn’t identify.

“Marco! What happened?!”

 _“I’m not sure I-“_ He heard more rushing wind and then a soft thud.

“Marco? Marco!” Jean yelled into his own headset. No response came. Jean gritted his teeth, biting back silent curses as he brought his scooter around in a one-eighty turn. He cranked it up to top speed, unapologetic to the pedestrians he likely startled in his hurry. He wasn’t sure what had happened, but he knew one thing for sure.

Marco needed his help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhanger >D
> 
> I have been waiting so long to introduce Ymir and Krista into this story, you don't even know...


	7. Shadows of the Future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the last chapter, if people wanted to see what Ymir looks like [here](http://38.media.tumblr.com/47f4f826e85aa21867b0b259359a85e2/tumblr_n8ub040DHx1ra518yo1_400.png) she is
> 
> And [here's](http://dei-ryuu.tumblr.com/post/87471595685/mid-transformation-its-transparent-btw-and-jean%20) Marco and Jean while I'm at it.
> 
> This chapter, whoa boy! I got stuck so many times on this one, but I pushed myself to get motivated because I really wanted to post today ('tis my birthday, so you all get a present in the form of an update). Enjoy!

Marco grunted as his back hit the ground with a heavy thud. He brought his feet up over his head, using them to restrain his attacker, which bared down on the felled halfa, teeth snapping dangerously close to his face. He shuddered as gooey saliva dripped onto his forehead.

Forcing his strength into his legs, he kicked it off with a mighty shove, sending the… _beast_ skidding several feet away. Beast was the best word he had for it. It had the body type of a lion or tiger, but a huge undefined head with the jaws of a shark, and dull brown, leathery skin. Its signature was a violent red, it reminded Marco of blood.

The halfa scrambled to his feet, glaring at the beast that had ambushed him. He’d _seen_ it at first, or its aura actually, just a tiny red blob that popped out of existence instantly. Then this huge, horse-sized monstrosity lunged at him from out of thin air. Even if it had been invisible, Marco would’ve been able to detect its aura even if he couldn’t pin point the exact location. This literally came out of _nowhere_. The attack had dislodged his headset, and his connection with Jean, sending it flying out into the field. He was going to have a time finding that after all this was over.

The ghost was ready for its counterattack, bursting forward with its gaping mouth open. Marco’s mind briefly flashed to Ymir and, in a last ditch effort, he thrust his hands forward and tried to materialize a shield.

The wall of purple energy flickered into existence briefly, but Marco didn’t have a chance to congratulate himself. The manifestation was weak and rushed and the phantom easily crashed through it like paper. The halfa had to place a hand on either jaw to keep the beast from biting down on his head and it took all of his strength just to keep those jaws open. How was he going to get out of this mess?

His salvation came in the form of a well-placed shot of blue energy to one of its eyes, which had the beast flinching away from the surprise attack. Marco took this moment of distraction to let go and turn intangible, diving into the ground. The jaws clamped shut on open air.

He flew back into the air, scooping up Jean by the arms as he emerged just before the ghost had its chance to settle on the new target.

“Now aren’t you glad you have me around?”

“Yes, yes, it’s good to see you. Now look alive, we’re not out of the frying pan just yet.”

The blond craned up, about to comment because who even uses that phrasing anymore, when something behind them caught his eye.

“Holy shit it can fly!”

Marco managed an exasperated grunt. “Yes, Jean, ghosts usually can. Now can you _please_ shoot it before it catches up!”

“I can’t with you holding me like this!” He squirmed in demonstration, either of his arms held uselessly to the side.

“Well improvise or something!”

Jean glanced back again. The ghost was getting dangerously close now and they had to do something or else they’d be in major trouble. Jean swung his body, freeing his armed hand from Marco’s grip, grabbing his forearm with the left. The halfa inhaled in distress, using both hands to hold Jean up by the one arm. The blond groaned in discomfort, making a mental note to start putting actual effort into gym.

“What are you doing? I could’ve dropped you!” Marco scolded, tightening his grip because there was still a very real risk of that coming true.

“Improvising.” With his gun arm free, he could launch an offensive, though not a very effective one as he dangled in midair, his motions subject to Marco’s flight pattern.

Not that it mattered because the ghost was apparently shit at dodging. It seemed to resister the blasts coming at it a second too late, getting hit by most of them. It growled in frustration, tearing off towards them.

“Heads up!” Jean yelled. Marco risked a glance over his shoulder and made a quick dive to avoid the charge. He flew low, letting Jean go about a foot off the ground. The blond tumbled, rolling to his feet as the halfa looped around to hover at his side. Both prepared a battle stance when the ghost returned, touching down with a stomp that Jean could feel underneath his feet.

It stared them down, snorting. “Think you can pull off a shield?” Jean asked.

“I can sure as hell try.” Determined, he forced his hands in front of him and conjured forth the purple shimmering force field. The ghost came forward, testing the shield with its own might. A crack formed at the impact point. Marco may have been able to form it, but it wasn’t going to last long.

The ghost continued to ram the shield and each new fracture sent an unpleasant vibration through his body. “I don’t know…” CRACK “how much…” CRACK “longer…” CRACK “I can…” CRACK “hold it!” A spider’s web of fractures wove across the shield now and Marco knew, at any second, it would shatter and leave them exposed. Jean readied his weapon for when that happened, but hesitated.

“Marco. Do you hear… hoof beats?”

Now that he mentioned it, he did, in fact, hear hoof beats. And from the sound of it, they were getting closer. He risked a glance in the direction of the sound. Something was coming out of the nearby woods, something brown and green, and it was coming _fast._

At the tree line it made a great bound, clearing the two boys with ease, and they watched the form of a mighty stag soar over their heads and land between them and the beast.

“It’s the ghost from the mall!” Marco exclaimed, dropping his broken shield. He observed it paw the ground in anger, antlers lowered to the beastly ghost. “We must be in its territory.”

“How the hell it’d get to the mall from all the way out here?”

Marco shrugged, eyes fixed on the two ghosts facing off. The stag reared up and suddenly charged ahead. The other followed its actions, snarling. Antlers met before teeth and it tore at the side of its face, forcing the beast away. It growled, trying to claw back at the stag, but it reared back and dug into its side this time, shoving it away only to clear the distance again with a charge. Again and again it dashed forward, never giving its opponent a chance to lash back.

Under the relentlessly pounding of an antlered head, the ghost seemed to realize it had met its match. Growling sulkily at the stag it dashed away, trying to escape. The forest spirit was having none of that. It pursued, charging with a fury not unlike when it had gone on that rampage in the food court. The other ghost seemed to shiver for a moment, then disappeared just as jarringly as it had appeared. The stag stomped angrily in the place it had last been seen, then spun around, eyes fixing on the boys. Ectoplasm from the other ghost was dripping off its antlers, oozing to the ground and evaporating into mist, eerily blood-like because the ghost’s signature had been red.

They flinched back. Were they next?

But the stag did not charge, it calmly walked over. Jean and Marco stayed in place, afraid that the slightest movement would send it flying into a rage again. The spirit approached the halfa, lowering its head so they were eye-to-eye, and looked at him with a sort of understanding.

“…you remember me,” he whispered. Slowly, he reached out a hand and placed it on the stag’s muzzle. It pushed into the touch, eyes never leaving him. “Thank you,” Marco told it, gently petting the ghostly animal. It snorted its reply, ears flicking, and pulled away, focusing now on Jean.

He froze when its gaze fell to him, circling around a few times to investigate this stranger. The stag sniffed at Jean before licking his face, effectively coating it in a translucent green goop. The blond grimaced in disgust, doing his best to wipe it all away with his sleeves.

Marco giggled. “I think he likes you.”

“Good for him,” he grumbled, shooting the spirit a dark look. It tilted its head innocently then nibbled at the unshaven locks on the top of his head. Marco’s giggles intensified.

With a content, yet tired, sigh, the halfa slunk to the ground. His body was sore from all the battling as of late and he may have pushed his powers a bit too far just now. A brief moment to rest and lower his guard would be good for him. Plus he was enjoying Jean and the stag’s interactions. “You should give him a name since he likes you so much,” he commented, leaning back on his arms.

Jean shooed the stag off of his head and it went to stand between the boys. He gave Marco a questioning look, but shrugged. Why the heck not?

He looked over the spirit, which had gone to grazing peacefully at the grass near Marco’s boots, despite its inability to eat. This barely even seemed to be the same wild buck that had come charging their rescue only moments ago, though the last few remnants of the battle were still trickling off branched antlers.

“Buchwald,” he suddenly said, voice almost at a whisper.

“Buchwald?”

“He was a poet, my dad’s favorite before he died. I could never pronounce the name as a kid and called him ‘Buckwild’ for the longest time.” He chuckled, smiling sadly at the memory. “Thought it might be fitting.”

The ghost looked up, flicked its ears in what might have been approval, and returned to the fruitless task of trying to eat grass.

“Well, if he approves, Buchwald it is.” It stopped grazing to look at him, seeming to respond to the name already. The last flecks of red were disappearing, prompting Marco to glance over to where the other ghost had last been seen. “I wonder where that thing went off to. It just… disappeared. Like it teleported.”

“Well weird shit like that always happens around now. If it doesn’t show up again tomorrow, it’ll probably just go away.”

Marco frowned to himself. Halloween or not, that was strange even by ghost standards. “I hope you’re right.”

“Of course I am, right Buchwald?” The stag nibbled his hair before stepping away. It regarded both of them with a slow blink and galloped off back into the forest. “…was it something I said?”

“The danger’s gone, so he probably just didn’t see a reason to stick around. And neither should we.” With a grunt, he stood back up, muscles complaining. “C’mon, we should get back to patrolling.”

Jean put his foot down. Literally. The stomp caused a small start in the halfa. “Oh no, the professionals can handle the rest of the day. We’re going home.”

“But-“

“No. God dammit, Marco, I know you want to help, but just because you _can_ doesn’t mean you have to devote every waking second to it. Seriously, take a break before those bags become as purple as the eyes they’re under.”

Marco, who had been rubbing sleep out of those very eyes, pulled his gloved hand away. He hated it when Jean was right, because that usually meant he was being ambitious to the point of self-detriment. Marco had a habit of ignoring his own needs for the sake of others and the blond was always there to remind him that ‘you need to look out for yourself every once in a fucking while’; his exact words.

“Alright,” he sighed. “I’ll meet you back home.” He started to kick off the ground, but Jean reached out and caught his jacket, yanking him back down.

“Nope. Conserve your strength, I’m driving.” He gestured proudly across the field where his scooter, or, as Marco liked to call it, ‘Death on Two Wheels’, awaited. He showed his opinion of this plan by giving Jean an unimpressed glare. “What?”

“Remember _last_ time we tried to both ride that thing?”

“That squirrel came out of nowhere! And I’ll go slow this time.”

The halfa rolled his eyes and begrudgingly complied, transforming back to human. His expression did not reflect any votes of confidence for the situation. They crossed the field together, approaching the small vehicle (He still had the flaming skull painted on the side for God’s sake, how is he incorrect for calling it a death machine?).  Jean took to crouching over the handlebars and hanging just off the front of the seat, revving it up, while Marco got the majority of the lone seat, awkwardly clutching the sides.

“Ready?”

“Of course no-“ the blond took off before the sentence could be completed. Marco wrapped his arms around Jean’s waist, partially to keep balance and partially out of shock from the sudden start. With his face planted in his back, he could feel the vibrations as the blond laughed and he gave him a small pinch in the side.

“Ow!” He shot his passenger a glare over his shoulder.

“Eyes on the road, Jean.” The brunet smiled innocently, sitting back upright now that he’d regained his bearings, but only because Jean had been true to his words and was driving at a decent pace. He regretted the day he’d let the blond talk him into modifying the scooter to go faster.

He watched the field disappear over the horizon, letting his concerns bubble back up in the silence they had lulled into. Something was worrying at the back of his mind, something he couldn’t shake.

Ghosts didn’t just disappear like that. To humans it may seem that way, but he knew better. Even before he had his powers, he’d been working with ghost tracking devices. When a spirit passed out of the physical realm, they left bits of their signature behind that faded eventually, and that same signature could still be tracked if a ghost was invisible.

The beast that had attacked them? Neither. It was just gone. No invisibility, no fading ectosginature, it just popped right out of existence. And that scared him. What _if_ that ghost came back? With no way to track its movements, another sneak attack was inevitable. Marco was barely able to fend it off before Jean showed up, and even then Buchwald had won the battle.

He stared at the back of Jean’s head, the Bluetooth headset they used to communicate now hanging on the base of his neck.

“Oh no!”

Jean skidded to a halt, jerking both of them forward. He craned his neck to give Marco a worried look. “What?”

“I forgot about my headset!”

* * *

Halloween fell, conveniently, to the weekend this year, so the boys could focus their attentions on the ghosts rather than class. Marco was busy laying out the plan. They would stick to outside the residential area to serve as a sort of first-response team. Town officials would be stationed closer to the homes to protect the kids who might be out- Yes, trick-or-treating still existed even in Trost. Not even ghosts could beat the allure of free candy.

With the temporary loss of Marco’s headset, they would be forced to patrol together, or at least until they could make their way towards the field again. Then it was only a matter of locating the device and making sure it still worked. Marco had his doubts- he’d been pretty far up when it was thrown loose.

The game plan was almost entirely mapped out when texts, one each, were received, and this was when they realized they had forgotten one very important detail.

What they had forgotten in their planning was that a certain duo would still want to spend the holiday with them and, in true Connie and Sasha fashion, they weren’t going to take no for an answer.

They were going trick-or-treating whether they liked it or not.

Never mind the fact that they were all in high school, this had been ongoing tradition ever since Jean had befriended them all those years ago and they insisted on dragging him along no matter how old they got. Jean imagined that they could be college graduates and the two would _still_ insist on respecting their annual tradition.

With those two around, there was no way they could go about their original plans. Jean was secretly grateful. It meant that Marco would have no choice but to take the day off. The halfa had dozed off a couple times while they were sitting around the apartment, strategizing, and Jean tried so hard not to laugh and the dopey, endearing expression on his half-conscious face. He _desperately_ needed a day where he wasn’t exhausting himself any further with his powers, and Jean made a mental note to thank Sasha and Connie somehow for supplying that means.

It was after noon, so they had a few hours before they had to meet their friends. Prime trick-or-treating started early in Trost, around 4 o’clock, and they were expected to make rounds in both neighborhoods, which were about a thirty-minute walk apart. They always started with Sasha and Connie’s neighborhood, because the apartment complexes stayed open for candy later into the night.

This left them a decent amount of time to figure out costumes, something else they had forgotten, but was very essential, and not just for traditions sake. Costumes, much like the decorations, deterred curious spirits to a certain extent.

Marco commented that he could probably throw something together with the stuff in the apartment, but Jean’s eyes light up with a sudden flash of inspiration. He excused himself, saying he had a few things to prepare, but he’d be back later to show off his ‘brilliant’ costume idea.

The brunet let out an amused chuckle as his friend left. Whatever he was up to, it was bound to be interesting. Now that just left the dilemma of his own costume. He wasn’t as creative as Jean, unless he was working with mechanics, but there had to be something low maintenance he could work with, aside from just throwing on one of his costumes from the past two years (If either of them still fit considering his growth spurt).

He found his old costumes fairly easily; they’d just been in a box in his closet with a few other things he never wore. He’d done a Frankenstein’s monster inspired look last year, throwing on some tattered old clothes while allowing Jean to paint his skin with discolored patches and stitches. Before that had been a mummy, with white clothes modified to look like bandages and pieces of Egyptian regalia. The cobra-headed crown was sitting on top in the box and he put it on for old times sake while he rooted through.

He pulled out the costumes in order to examine the rest of the box’s contents. All clothes, all that had to be too small to wear, but were not in any particular state to be donated either. A sleeve came loose from a fluffy brown sweater he picked to examine, fluttering to the ground in demonstration. Marco was almost glad it was in such a bad shape, because for the life of him he couldn’t fathom why he’d worn such a thing in the first place. It looked more like a poor attempt at a fur coat. What was it even made out of, fuzzy yarn?

He frowned at the loose sleeve, lifting it up gingerly. It almost looked like the tail of some kind of an animal, he mused, wiggling it. In fact, with a little work, it _could_ be the tail of an animal.

Marco grinned. He had his costume idea.

Within a few hours, the sweater was completely in shreds. The tattered jeans and baggy quarter sleeved shirt (which he noted was not as baggy anymore) from last year’s costume were brought out again. He made the original tears more prominent and cut a few more while gluing patches of the sweater inside the holes. The sleeve was sealed off on both ends and padded with excess bits of fabric for shape to act as a tail. Long, triangular shaped pieces were cut out and glued around pieces of craft foam for support, which he then clipped to the arms of his glasses, serving as ears.

Marco looked himself over in the mirror. He made a pretty good no budget werewolf.

The front door closed, drawing his attention. His parents were on call all day like ever other Sina employee, so that left one possible culprit. Well, there was the slim chance it could be a burglar, but burglars typically didn’t loudly slam doors shut to announce their arrival. The costumed boy poked his head out into the hallway when he heard the familiar voice calling out for him and approaching footsteps.

“You ready- Jean _what_ are you wearing?”

The… blond? grinned, placing his hands on his hips. “You like it?” He was dressed in a black t-shirt, jeans, and fingerless gloves, which was not out of the ordinary for his usual style. He’d thrown on an old denim jacket that looked like it’d been fished out from the darkest depths of his closet and was slightly too small. He’d fastened two belts around his waist, both mildly different shades of blue, and put on a pair of blue sneakers with blue leg warmers atop them.

But the _real_ eye catcher? Jean had spray-dyed his hair white and put on a Phantom of the Opera style mask painted in a deep purple.

Marco scowled when he realized exactly what he was dressed as. “…I hate you.”

“You and I both know that’s not true,” he commented, slinging an arm around the real halfa’s shoulder. “So what, got tired of being half ghost and thought you’d try out being half wolf instead?” He touched the tip of a furry ear.

“Maybe. Did you get tired of being a dork and decide to try out being cool for a change?”

Oh. The sass was strong with this one. He let this one go because, he couldn’t lie, Marco’s ghost half _was_ pretty cool. The human half, however, was the definition of adorkable. Seriously, glasses _and_ freckles? That combined with his dumb sweaters almost pushed him off the charts.

“Like my recreation? I couldn’t be _too_ accurate since all the photos of you suck.” He turned around once to give Marco a good look. Jean even painted a mock version of the very emblem he designed himself, the shield missing and the wings uncrossed. Marco idly wondered how much it hurt his artist’s soul to do that to his own creation.

He gave his friend another once over. “I like your ‘boots’.”

“Marco, have you _ever_ seen fluorescent blue boots before? This is the closest I’m getting outside of the internet.”

He laughed. “Well _sorry_ I didn’t have the foresight to make them change a color that was more convenient for you.”

“Good, you should be.” Jean shot him a grin and playfully tugged at one of the brunet’s faux ears, making his glasses go askew. “Come on, wolf-boy, let’s get out of here.”

“Hold on, let me get a bag or something. And we should text them that we’re heading over.” As Marco slipped back into his room, Jean made himself comfortable on the couch, pulling out his phone to do just that.

 

**To: Hungry Hungry Sasho**

**yo fuckers were headin out youve got 30 mins**

Marco came back to glance over his shoulder just before the message was sent. “Eloquent as ever,” he remarked, swinging a drawstring bag in one hand. “We good?”

“Yup.” Jean pushed off from the sofa, nearly tripping over the coffee table. He brushed past to grab his own bag from near the front door, lightly smacking Marco in the arm for laughing, and they both set out.

There wasn’t a single place you could look without seeing either Halloween decorations or someone who was employed to keep the paranormal levels under control, who might as well been decorations themselves with how consistent their placement was. Marco bit at his lip watching them. He should’ve been out there helping.

Jean pointed out that they seemed to be managing just fine on their own, noticing his friend worrying at his lip again. A few times when they passed the armed individuals, they were firing off warning shots at ghosts that ventured too close, which were successful in keeping them at bay. Those that weren’t busy were watching the two boys oddly, particularly Jean, as though they either didn’t know what he was dressed as, or did and couldn’t fathom _why._

About three quarters of the way there, they stumbled across Marco’s parents, who, as they learned, were stationed on the side of the city that Sina was closest to along with most of the researchers, just incase something was brought in that needed to be analyzed. They took a brief break to greet the boys and comment on their outfits. Marco was deemed ‘cute', though they had first assumed him to be a cat. Jean they figured out with more ease and commended him on his originality, even offering suggestions on how to make his costume more accurate. The boys held back their laughter on just how far from the truth they were (“You should’ve put a purple stripe going across your nose.””The hair’s more silver, the camera flash makes it look white.”).

Farewells were bid and soon they found themselves at the front steps of Connie’s house. Unlike Jean and Marco, who lived in the apartment district of Trost, Sasha and Connie lived in a subdivision. The two were actually next-door neighbors, Sasha’s home just to the left. However, judging from the origin of all the noise, it was easy to surmise which house the two were currently occupying.

They rang the doorbell and didn’t have to wait long before the door flew open to reveal two eager faces.

“You’re late!” Sasha proclaimed, brandishing some sort of colorful stick in Jean’s face before he could even cross the threshold.

“What the fuck, you were _timing_ us?” he complained, pushing the offending object out of the way before she had the opportunity to poke his eye out with it. Connie’s father, who had shuffled past in order to investigate the commotion, gave him a disapproving look for the language.

Once inside, they took the moment to discern what the duo had chosen for their costume. They always picked something coordinating, which the others would do if Jean’s suggestions didn’t always end with utter mortification on Marco’s part, so they did their own thing.

This year, Sasha and Connie were a witch and a wizard of the Hogwarts variety. They wielded sticks for wands, painted in bright stripes of color that were in no way accurate to the source material, and wore red ties to show their affiliation.

“We’re almost all coordinated this year! Marco, we can say you’re Lupin,” Connie commented. “…Jean can be a Ravenclaw with too much school spirit or something.”

“Hey! There are totally ghosts in Hogwarts!” he protested.

“Ghosts? But- Oh. OH! _That’s_ what you’re doing.” Sash smirked. “Whoa, you better watch out then, Jean. Someone might mistake you for the real deal.” The sarcasm was _dripping_ off of her tone.

“Yeah well, screw you. I put this together in an hour.”

“You should’ve gotten a better look that day at the mall then,” she replied in a sing-song tone. Connie looked between them, confused, so Sasha leaned down to whisper the explanation in his ear.

“Oh…” he breathed, looking over Jean again with new information in hand. “What’s with the mask? You know the ‘Trost-pera’ thing is just a press gimmick. It’s supposed to be these really cool battle scars apparently!”

Jean rolled his eyes. “It’s called _artistic license._ They made the joke, I ran with it.” Plus he couldn’t really explain that he was being inaccurate _on purpose._

“I like the mask,” Marco said in a quiet voice. “It’s… clever.” He smiled at Jean and that was all the validation he needed. He knew he couldn’t have painted on any imitation the actual scars- the halfa was too self-conscious of them. Knowing they were there was bad enough for him, but seeing a representation on someone else? No, Jean couldn’t do that to his friend.

“Well, if Marco approves, I guess we can’t complain too much,” Connie said, shrugging. “You’re off the hook this time.”

“Oh thank you o merciful ones,” Jean said in the flattest tone he could muster.

“Now now boys, don’t fight-”

“You started it!”

“-there is candy to be acquired.” Sasha pulled them into a group huddle. “If we start early we can get all the good stuff before the competition gets out there (“You mean the _kids_ ”). If we spend a few hours going around the subdivision, it’ll be nightfall by the time we get over to the apartments. Then we do our rounds there and then sleepover at Marco’s! Your parents still pulling the usual post-Halloween all-nighter?”

“They didn’t mention otherwise.” The other part of the tradition was the spend the night over at whoever’s house was the last visited, since it was usually far too late at night to reasonably walk back that long distance, especially with the added danger factor. The ghosts were always the worst closer to midnight because they knew their time was almost up. Since Marco had the apartment to himself that night, the tradition changed from rotating to the Bodt apartment being the official sleepover spot. No parental figures to nag them about volume levels or sugar intake.

“Perfect! Now let’s move out!”

The ‘competition’ was already out, despite Sasha’s best efforts to be the first ones hitting the houses. Nobody batted an eye at the four teenagers engaged in the same activity as elementary school kids; it’d been going on so long that they’d be more surprised if the group didn’t show up one year. A few of the kids even joined up with them for a few streets, excitedly clinging to Marco’s tail and hiding under wizarding robes before their parents called them back.

The distraction put them a little behind schedule and, by the time they weaved their way through all of the interlocked neighborhoods, the sun was already sinking low in the sky. They would need to hurry over to the apartments before they lost too much of their remaining sunlight.

Marco’s parents were no longer at their post when they reached that point. He hoped nothing serious had happened, but they probably just had something to analyze. Who knows, maybe they finally caught that one ghost they were after.

They were just past the halfway point when sunlight finally left them. A chilled air was settling over the town and, whether from the evening or the ghosts, they would not discern. Not too far away, sounds of a battle could be heard, though too distant for Marco to see what kind of ghost was being fought. He clenched his hands anxiously. What if he could help, and couldn’t because of the current situation?

“What’s wrong, Marco?” Sasha’s voice brought him from his thoughts.

“Oh? N-nothing…” He forced a smile that no one was buying. They had all stopped to face him and Marco tried not to meet any of their eyes, focusing instead on a small light behind them.

“You do know you can tell us what’s on your mind, right?”

But Marco didn’t answer. His eyes were fixed on the silver glow in the distance. No, not here Not _now._ He glanced around. They were alone. Whoever was supposed to be on duty for that particular stretch of road must’ve been engaged in that distant battle. They would be of no assistance.

“Look out!” he shouted, pointing behind them. Everyone turned and, at first, didn’t see anything besides empty street. Then, a silvery mist began to materialize. The blob flowed towards them, slowly taking shape. First, four long legs, then a large body, and finally a long-muzzled head that flowed into a sloping neck. It was a horse, a horse made of mist that was galloping right into their formation.

With an echoing neigh it ran forth and Marco ordered everyone to scatter, hoping that it was only after him. He broke away from the group, despite their protests, running at full speed to find someplace he could transform without anyone seeing.

“Please follow me, please follow me, _”_ Marco whispered to himself, eyes cast over his shoulder. The equine, had it pursued, was shrouded by a veil of fog that had suddenly descended, slowly swallowing up the surroundings. He turned around to the find same happening in front of him. Was this the doing of a spirit? It was similar to the mist the horse had formed from, perhaps one of its powers. Marco tensed, his fight-or-flight responses flipping back and forth in his mind.

A figured stepped out of the shroud, not equine in nature, but human, and spoke to him in a soothing voice. “Relax. You are not in danger and neither are your friends. My steed was meant to only separate you, for I required an audience with you alone, young halfa.”

A tall, elegant woman stood before him, dressed in a regal gown that billowed in the nonexistent wind like liquid silver. In her hands rested, eerily enough, her head. Her neck instead formed a chimney for the mist that swirled around them. Yet despite the morbid appearance, there was a comforting familiarity about her. Her face was wise and kind; her hair pulled up in an elaborate bun and decorated by a crown.

Marco’s eyes went wide. He knew why she was familiar. Because her face was one he saw nearly everyday since moving to Trost three years ago. A face he saw on the back of the jackets of anyone who worked down at the ghost research labs.

“You’re… Queen Sina…”

He knew he should’ve bowed or done anything besides stand there gaping like an idiot, but to his surprise, the woman laughed graciously. “Please, dear, you need not bother with the formalities. Sina alone is fine. After all, it seems a bit silly to cling to the title when I have had no kingdom to be queen of for three centuries.” She leaned her headless body forward, face becoming serious. “Do not get assassinated. It is not a recommended form of death.”

“O-oh. I’m sorry,” he stammered. How do you even respond to that?

“Whatever for? It is not as though _you_ ordered my beheading. Though if one of your ancestors were responsible, then I would have no choice but to haunt you and your potential descends.” Marco’s breath hitched audibly and the former queen let ring another laugh. “I jest! Really you must be less serious.”

Marco cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but what did you want from me?”

“Just to talk,” she assured. “I have heard many whispers of you from the other side and I desired to meet the new peacekeeper for myself.”

“Peacekeeper, ma’am?”

She tutted. “So formal. And yes, peacekeeper. Those who manage the veil between living and dead. There have been many over the centuries. In my rule that titles belonged to a woman by the name of Ilse Langner who could see spirits after a rather nasty bout with a ghoul. The veil was much thicker back then, only those with the gift could see ghosts. As it has thinned, we have become visible to all, though other gifts exist. I once heard tale of a man who could detect spirits by scent alone.”

There was a sudden whinny that interrupted her story, startling Marco. He briefly became invisible and did not miss Sina’s amused smile. The horse emerged from the mist, returning to its master. She removed one hand from her head, carefully balancing it in the other, to gently pet the steed, eyes still fixed on Marco.

“Halfas like you are a new phenomenon because of how thin the boundary has become in later years, though your kind had been around for several decades. “

“Have you… have you met any others? Like me?”

Her eyes slid shut. “Alas, I have not. I am bound to this land and may only appear on this eve, when the veil disappears. You are the first we have known and I could tell you naught of others. Though…” Marco, slightly disappointed with the lack of information, perked up again. “you remind me much of dear Ilse. Perhaps she is an ancestor and why you find yourself with such powers. I regret to inform you that I cannot offer much more.”

An ancestor who could see ghosts? Could that be possible? He wasn’t born with his powers, but maybe… maybe that’s why the accident hadn’t killed him. Why the spectral energy contained in the locket found him to be a more acceptable host.

Sina’s horse shook its willowy mane, collapsing into the stream of mist only to reform underneath its master, pushing her up to ride sidesaddle. He supposed that was the best way to remount a ghostly horse when both of your hands were occupied by your head. It regarded the halfa boredly, blowing cool air that whipped his bangs around.

“I must away, but I shall warn you, young one, before I go. Though you do not yet realize it, you have a dangerous enemy. Tread carefully and keep an eye on those close to you, for they may find themselves entangled in this web as well. I shall pray to your good fortune and that our paths may cross sometime in the future.”

And in a shimmer, she, and her mist, faded into the night, leaving Marco alone to stand there and contemplate her words.


	8. Seeds Of Doubt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhat late on this chapter, I had such a busy weekend. I was out of town for a few days visiting my friend/former roommate and attending a convention and didn't get much time to write. Sorry about that, but we're back in business now!

No one spoke much on what occurred that Halloween night, and not for a lack of effort. Try as they might, Marco flat out refused to divulge the events after his separation from the group when they were attacked by the ethereal equine. Separation by choice on top of that, and he got much berating for trying to be a hero and endangering himself from those who did not know the truth. Jumping into situations with reckless abandon was Connie’s shtick, not Marco’s. Unfortunately, with the brunet unwilling to talk, the most they could do was drop to issue for now and touch upon it at a later date.

And they might have let it drop if it weren’t for the fact that it was _painfully_ obvious that whatever happened when he was on his own was nagging at him. He was distant, distracted, always needing a bit of coercion to draw him from the deeper depths of his mind. At one point, Sasha managed to hold an entire conversation with him on the preferred methods for hunting wild boars and the older teen never batted an eye (While the other two gaped in awe and horror at her extensive knowledge on the topic. If either of them planned to get stranded in the wilderness they knew to make sure she was with them).

When his odd behavior persisted for a few days, Jean finally took matters into his own hands. He cornered the halfa at his locker after school while he was organizing his books, if organizing could even be used describe staring into one’s locker with a glazed expression, a single book held limply in hand. He hadn’t even registered Jean walking over for Christ’s sake!

Jean let out a frustrated grunt, punctuated by his hand slamming loudly against the neighboring locker. The brunet snapped to attention with a squeal. His book flew from his hands, clattering against the bottom of the locker. Wow, a scare like that should’ve had him on the ceiling, or _at least_ invisible, but it didn’t even earn a flash of purple eyes. Just how out of it _was_ Marco?

“J-jean!” he stammered with a nervous laugh, fixing his crooked glasses. “I didn’t see you coming.”

The blond rolled his eyes. “Clearly. You done in LaLa Land over here?”

“No. Actually I booked a weekend’s stay at their finest hotel with all the amenities.” Good to the see part of his brain responsible for back sassing was still functional, Jean noted dryly. He could’ve lived without that for a few days.

He finished what he had been trying to do before his thoughts had claimed him and slung his backpack on. They exited the building together, but when Marco turned to go left, Jean grabbed him by the arm and tugged him in a direction that definitely wasn’t the way home. “We’re going this way.” It was an order, not a suggestion.

Marco let out a slow breath. When Jean got serious like this, there was usually a good reasoning behind it (He had a fairly good guess, and it wasn’t something he was all too thrilled about, though inevitable). Trudging forward, he allowed himself to be pulled along, away from the apartments. Something told him it would be a while before they returned, not that it really mattered. It wasn’t as though anyone would be there waiting for him.

Awkward silence lingered between the two as they meandered down the road. Occasionally Jean would look over to his companion, eyes taking in everything, trying to glean even the tiniest hint from his expression or body language.

Finally he broke the tension. “What happened to you that night?”

“Well, first I found this really old looking locket and-“

“Marco.” The halfa’s preferred method of dodging questions he didn’t want to answer was to make wisecrack responses in the hopes of distracting the questioner. Jean’s stern gaze told him that that technique wasn’t going to help him today.

“…do I have to?”

“No, if you want to spend the rest of the night wandering the streets, that is. Because we’re not going home until you talk.”

Marco glared. “I could fly away, right now, and leave you to find your own way back.”

“You could.” Jean shot back a challenging smirk. “But you won’t. I know you too well.” A sigh of defeat escaped. He was right. “Marco, please. At least tell me _something_. I hate watching whatever this is eat you up from inside.”

Since the passing of October into the new month, Marco was looking considerably less ill. His patrols had been cut back to none (after much coaxing), since ghost activity was very low on the radar the first few days of November, allowing for the recharge his ghostly half needed. However, looking healthy and looking well rested were two different matters. In fact, the bags under his eyes seemed to have been getting worse the past couple of days, even darker and more pronounced. Whatever was running through his head was assumedly making sleep a difficult task.

The blond pinned him with a sharp, determined stare, like he was going to uncover the secrets that were ailing the halfa even if it killed him, and Marco decided he couldn’t be _too_ aggravated by the invasion of privacy. Not with Jean showing how sincerely worried he was, albeit in his usual brash manner. With some lingering reluctance, he finally spoke.

“I met the Queen.”

Jean’s brows furrowed. “…of England?”

“Of _Trost._ Sina.” He sighed heavily, rubbing at his temples. “She wanted to talk to me, said I was the new medium… or peacekeeper, or…” He cut himself off with another sigh. Tired eyes fell shut behind glasses.

“Is that a bad thing?” Peacekeeper sounded like a pretty accurate role for Marco, ghost _or_ human. He’d been doing that for his peers long before all this halfa businesss started.

“No? Maybe? Oh, I don’t know, Jean.” He met his gaze, brown orbs holding the weight of everything that had been on his mind for the past week. From the stress of the days leading up to Halloween to whatever the ghostly queen had divulged unto him that night. “I’ve been thinking a lot about everything she told me and, well, I’m starting to wonder why I even have these powers. There are people better suited for this than me.”

Jean gawked in disbelief. “Are you kidding? Who better to fight off the spooks than someone who’s had a lifetime of experience with them?”

“Like everyone in Trost? I may know facts, but I don’t have nearly as much past experience. We had to travel across the country to track sightings- you just have to step outside here.” He turned to Jean with a weak smile. “I honestly think you’d be much better than me.”

He snorted. “You really think my dumb ass would be a better ‘guardian’ or whatever the fuck you called it? Have you _seen_ the way I fight?”

That warranted a small laugh from Marco. “Yes, you are a bit… forward, but that’s exactly why you’re better at this than me. I hesitate and over think, but you can make split-second decisions that, while a little reckless, usually end up being right. We’ve won most of our battles because of your quick thinking.”

“But…” he began, but the halfa cut him off, shaking his head.

“No, it’s alright. I know I’ve been over thinking as usual. I just have to accept that it’s my responsibility now.”

Jean blinked. Well, that discussion went smoothly. Too smoothly in fact. He’d been a bit _too_ eager to resign that conflict.

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “That’s not it, is it? There’s something else worrying you.”

Marco’s eyes immediately went to the ground, a look of guilt betrayed by them. What was so bad that he felt the need to keep it even from him, his best friend? The sole person he felt comfortable enough with the disclose something as mentally jarring as becoming half _ghost_ in a lab accident. Somehow dying and coming back as a superhero did not hold as much weight as the ramblings of a dead queen.

The sound of sirens caught their attention and they cast their eyes down the street to the source. A fire truck was speeding around the corner, followed shortly by a few emergency vehicles. In the direction they were headed, a thick column of black smoke rose up above the rooftops.

The two teenagers, thoughts in sync, turned to each other with a nod and followed. Their discussion was far from over, but it would have to wait until later.

A two-story domicile was far into the late stages of a house fire by the time they arrived on site, flames already consuming the bottom floor and moving upwards. Firefighters were doing their best to tame the inferno while keeping curious civilians at bay.

A woman, assumedly a resident of the household, was screaming her lungs out, held back by an EMT who was attempting to tend to her burns. She was in hysterics, face red either from shouting or from the heat. A fireman who was on standby came over to address her and the boys snuck closer to overhear their conversation.

“-too intense for any of us to get in right now.”

“But she’s just a little girl! She can’t possibly survive much longer!” the woman yelled, clinging to the fireproof jacket in front of her. She broke out in choked sobs.

“I promise you, ma’am, your daughter will make it out, we’ll-”

“Hey kid! Get out of here, it’s dangerous!” Another of the EMTs had taken notice of the eavesdropping and stood between Jean and the unfolding scene, shooing him away.

“Kid?” He turned his head and an empty space stared back at him. “Where-“ His question answered itself, because a blue blur streaked past, going straight through the upper floor of the burning building.

“Hello?” Marco called, once settled inside. To his surprise (and possible horror, but he could worry about that later), the smoke wasn’t affecting his respiration, but it still stung at his eyes and he had to duck to see anything.

“Hello!” he called again, a little louder this time, maneuvering through the house. The embers had begun to spread to the second story now and he had to watch his footing as pieces of the floor were being eaten away by the blaze. He was answered this time by coughing and Marco followed the sound to a room at the end of the hallway.

He made his way into what was clearly the room of a young child. Toys and games were scattered across the floor and the walls covered in colorful drawings, though most had been claimed by the smoke and embers by now. The coughing brought his attention to the back wall of the room, where a little girl was huddled in fear, a teddy bear clutched closely to her chest for solace. Her eyes widened at the sudden appearance of Marco. “Y-you’re not a fireman,” she uttered weakly, hugging her toy tighter.

“No. No I’m not, but I’m here to help, I promise. I can get you out of here.” He took a slow step towards her, but she squealed in fear, another spasm of coughs wracking her small frame.

Marco bit his lip. He didn’t want to scare her, but they needed to get out of there. _Now._ The fire was spreading to the ceiling now and he didn’t know how much longer the structure could hold out.

He tried again. “Please. I won’t hurt you.” He advanced again and she shrunk back further until her back hit the corner. Unfortunately, much of the support had already been consumed by flames and that small impact was enough to jostle the framework. A chunk of wall cracked and began to fall forward where it would surely crush the small child.

Marco had to act fast. As she screwed her eyes shut, he rushed forward, catching the top of the wall just before it had the chance to fall. When she opened them again, she saw Marco, faced away from her as he held the wall up, and the pair of wings on his back.

“An angel…” she whispered, unheard by the halfa.

“Listen, I promise I can save you, but I need you to trust me. Can you do that?” He looked over his shoulder at the child, who gave him a slow nod. “Alright.” Marco crouched down, still holding the wall above his head. “Climb up on my back-ack, gently! Please don’t strangle me.” The little girl had thrown her arms around his neck for support and clung with all the might her tiny arms could muster. He could feel the teddy bear wedged between them.

Satisfied that the child was secure, Marco turned intangible and the broken wall fell through them, smashing again the ground. She squealed again and clung tighter as Marco pushed off, sending them flying through the wall. Below, heads shot up in alarm when the ghost emerged from the burning building and they all backed up when he descended, giving him a wide breadth. Marco ignored them, becoming tangible as he landed and crouched down to let the little girl off. She looked at him, not quite willing to let go of her savior just yet.

“Go on, you’re safe now,” he encouraged. She glanced to the ground, deciding that it wasn’t going to burst into flames, and hopped off.

“Reilly!” The woman from before rushed forward, scooping the child up in her arms. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks and she buried her face in her daughter’s soot-covered hair. “Thank God you’re okay!”

“Mommy! Mommy, the nice man saved me!” Marco, who’d been about to slip away while they were distracted, suddenly froze when the mother picked her head up and fixed her gaze on him.

She narrowed her eyes. “Aren’t you that Trost-pera ghost that’s been in the papers?”

“I… I, uh…”

“Nu-uh, Mommy! He’s an angel!” the little girl insisted, pointing excitedly. “He’s got wings on his back!”

Marco flushed a pleasant shade of violet. “A-angel? I… I’m not-“ He was cut off, jumping, when Reilly’s mother placed a hand on his shoulder, smiling warmly. Her eyes were still overflowing with tears of joy.

“Thank you, whoever you are, for saving my baby girl. I just… I don’t want to imagine what could’ve happened if you hadn’t been around.”

Marco took a few moments to stand there with an astounded expression before he regained enough composure to return the smile. “Anytime, ma’am.” He ducked down to the girl’s level, where her tiny hand was reaching out to him. Her fingers traced over the freckles on his nose and he giggled. “I have to go now. Stay safe, okay?”

She made an alarmed noise, frantically waving her hand to keep his attention. She then pulled the stuffed bear she’d been clinging to for dear life out from between her and her mother and held it out to him. She gave it an insistent shake. “For me?” She nodded, a wide grin spreading across her chubby cheeks.

He gingerly took it from her hand. It was rumpled from the force that she’d been holding it with and so smudged with soot that he couldn’t tell what color it was supposed to be, but Marco still felt tears threatening to spill from his eyes as he looked at the token of appreciation. “Thank you,” he breathlessly spoke. “I’ll see you around, Reilly.”

“Bye-bye Mr. Angel!”

Another smile was given to the family before Marco pulled back and took off. He looked down and met Jean’s eye, throwing him a quick nod to the side. The blond caught the message and casually walked off in the direction Marco indicated to meet up with him. Below, Reilly and her mother were waving him goodbye and he eagerly waved back before flying away to rendezvous with his friend. The halfa hugged the worn teddy bear close, feeling as though he was being kept aloft not by his powers, but by the warmth swelling in his chest.

* * *

“So, still feel the same about your powers now?”

Marco looked down at him from where he stood, perched halfway up a wall. He’d cleaned the small bear up- it was purple, go figure- and was setting it up on his shelf beside a few other plush toys.

“Well I didn’t have to get a stepstool,” he remarked, walking back down the wall as if that were the current orientation of gravity. Stepping to flat ground, he sauntered over and plopped onto the bed, playfully nudging the blond out of the way.

Marco looked up, admiring his work. The stuffed bear looked very much at home perched between the dinosaur from his childhood and the horse Jean had won him at the arcade last year. It brought a fond smile to his face. “I was just in the right place at the right time. Even if I hadn’t been there, I’m sure the firefighters would’ve made it in time.”

Of course. Leave it to Marco to be humble about saving someone’s life.

“I don’t know, they _were_ having some issues. And that kid can tell the story of how she was saved by a guardian angel, instead of some boring old fireman.” Rolling his eyes, Marco shoved him again and Jean, with a dramatic flair, fell onto his back in mock defeat.

“I’m no angel. And I’m definitely no one’s _guardian_ angel.”

“Not even mine?” Marco wasn’t looking at Jean, but he could _hear_ the pout in that sickly-sweet tone that definitely did not suit someone with his looks.

“Not even yours.” He was smiling, but only slightly. His face was betrayed that same melancholy Jean had been noticing in his friend’s expression for the past couple of days.

He propped himself up on his elbows. “So, will you tell me what’s _really_ eating at you now?”

The smile dropped from Marco’s face entirely, lips drawing to a fine line. He shook his head. “Please, just… just let me figure it out. I think this is something I have to deal with alone. Alright?”

The blond sighed. “Fine.” Though it was anything but. Somehow he felt this was less of a ‘have to do it alone’ kind of deal, and more along the lines of ‘afraid to get you involved’. Marco’s grateful smile, which only accentuated his tired features, did not sway his thoughts on the matter. “But at least get some rest. You’re starting to look like a zombie.”

Marco let out a soft chuckle. “I am literally the opposite of a zombie.”

“Could’ve fool me.” He reached up, poking the brunet’s face just underneath the frames of his glasses. Marco playfully snapped at the offending digit and yawned. The mention of his evident fatigue appeared to have reminded his body that it was functioning on minimal amounts of sleep over the course of a week. Jean shot him a smug look.

“Oh alright, I guess I can take a nap.” He leaned back to smirk at Jean, removing his glasses. “Are you sleeping with me?” he asked innocently, batting his eyelashes.

That wiped the smug grin right off of Jean’s face, his ears burning as he pushed up to his feet. “Oh shut it and go to sleep. I’ll see you later, man.” Marco waved him goodbye. Jean could let himself out of the apartment just fine.

He leaned back into the pillows, listening to the telltale slam of the front door. Never could just shut it quietly like a normal person. Then again, a normal people probably wouldn’t be friends with a half ghost and nagging them about sleep patterns and bottling emotions.

The halfa laughed to himself, cocooning into a blanket. For now, he was going to take that not-so-normal person up on at least one of his suggestions.

* * *

Jean’s mother returned home only shortly after Jean did himself, and was surprised to find her son sitting idly on the sofa sketching without any form of accompaniment.

“You’re alone,” she commented, setting her purse down on the coffee table. “Did you have a lovers’ quarrel?”

Jean looked up to acknowledge her arrival for the first time, scowling. “How many times do I have to say it wasn’t what you thought?”

“When you act otherwise, maybe I’ll believe it.” Her hands were on her hips now, eying him with concern as she awaited a proper response to the question.

“No, we didn’t fight. I just had to tell a workaholic that sleep is not the enemy.” He brandished his pencil, erasing a line that had gone foul out of distraction. “He’ll probably text me when he wakes up.”

Adele frowned. “What’s that boy so busy with that he’s not been sleeping?”

“I dunno. The demands of 11th grade?” A sharpened point etched out the outline of a rounded eye with an intense gaze. After a few seconds of silence he glanced up to find his mother fixing him with a near identical look. “What?”

“You’re not doing anything… concerning, are you? Don’t roll your eyes at me, young man, I am completely serious!”

“ _Mooom._ Nothing’s going on.”

“I’m sorry, Jean-boy,” she sighed “but it’s hard to believe you sometimes. You’re always skipping classes, you’ve been coming home later and later, you seem to be constantly getting scuffed up by _something,_ not to mention your clothing choice. _”_ Jean glanced down at his attire of blacks and dark reds; his thigh-high combat boots and ripped jeans, skull shirt and studded wristbands. “It all suggests that you’re in some kind of gang!”

“What _gang?_ Marco? Sasha? Connie? Wow, what a bunch of hoodlums. We all must be going straight for the juvie.” He frowned at his mother, sketchbook now sitting, neglected, beside him on the couch. He expected this kind of thing from his classmate, but his own _mother?_ How little faith did she have in him?

“Jean, please, it’s worrisome. Especially after your father-“

“Wait, wait, wait. What does Dad have to do with this?” She _never_ talked about his father, not since his passing six years ago. “He was sick. He died of cancer!”

“Yes, sweetie, but our family suffered a great loss because of it,” her voice dropped to a more subdued tone, “and if something were to happen to you because of anything you may be up to…”

“But I’m not! I’m not in a gang, or doing anything illegal. Godammit, Mom, why can’t you just believe me for once?!”

“Jean! Language!”

“No!” he snapped, standing abruptly. “You’re always on my back about how I dress, or what I do when I’m not home! Why can’t you accept that that’s just how I am? Why does something bad always have to be attached to it?!” Seething, he stormed out of the den to his bedroom, ignoring his mother’s shouts of protest in the background.

He went to his dresser and roughly dragged out his holster and ray gun from their hiding spot, fastening it over his shoulders and grabbing a jacket off his bed to hide it. He burst back out into the living room, stomping past his mom without even sparing her a passing glance.

“And just where are you going?”

“OUT!” he barked, and slammed the door shut behind him.

There was a part of him that knew he shouldn’t have been out wandering the streets this close to nightfall, especially not on his own, but his usual safe haven for these moments was on ordered bed rest before he passed out from exhaustion. That same part of him knew that he shouldn’t have run out on his mother like that either, especially since she hadn’t meant any harm. Ever since his father died, she’d been increasingly overprotective, afraid that she could lose her son at any moment.

However both of those were overshadowed by that part that was still angry with the exchange and too prideful to turn back just yet, so he grumbled to himself and picked any direction that would bring him further away from the apartment.

Besides, he tried to convince himself, Marco hadn’t always been there. He’d run out on his mother before due to an argument and nothing bad had happened, so why should now be any different.

The streets were quiet, which normally Jean wouldn't mind, but this was doing little than give him time to mull over how stupid and selfish he was being. He should’ve brought his sketchbook; at least it would’ve given him something to distract his mind. All he had with him was a gun, which, while practical, offered very little in the entertainment factor.

He supposed target practice could be a viable option, though his current surroundings provided nothing aside from a random officer who was staring in his general direction with an odd look on his face. Jean tried to ignore him, but now that it has been brought to his attention, all he could feel was his gaze piercing into the back of his skull.

The blond stiffened and risked another glance. The officer was approaching him now with a stern look on his face. Jean groaned. Just his luck, _another_ authority figure here to yell at him.

“Alright, kid. What do ya think you’re doing out here so late?” he spat once in earshot. He was unarmed, Jean noticed, which was strange. The cops never went anywhere on duty without at least equipping themselves with their ghost rifles. Was this just some off-call overachiever who’d decided he didn’t like the way Jean looked?

“Last I checked, Trost doesn’t have curfews, _officer,_ ” Jean spat, against his better judgment. If he wasn’t willing to listen to his mother nagging him, he definitely was not in the mood to hear the same from some cop when he wasn’t doing anything even moderately illegal. His appearance may suggest that he was up to no good, but that was no reason to jump to conclusions.

“I’m gonna have to ask you to come with me,” the officer insisted, reaching a hand out towards Jean, who roughly jerked away.

“For what? _Walking?_ Is it suddenly against the law for me to use my legs?”

“It is for you to be carrying around that weapon.”

Jean blinked. How could he even see the gun underneath his jacket? It must’ve swung into sight when he moved. “What this thing? It’s fake. People don’t try to jump me if they think I’m armed,” he bluffed, pulling the gun out of his holster. The cop jumped back instinctively, taking on a defensive position. If he’d been carrying a gun, he probably would have had it aimed at the teen. Might’ve even fired it by now. “Seriously? Does this thing look real to you?” Jean remarked, twirling it around his index finger. “It’s a friggin’ sci-fi replica.”

Jean stopped spinning the gun long enough to point it up at the sky, firing off a brilliant blue beam that soared upwards and was quickly swallowed up by the dusk. “See? Just lights and noise.”

The officer did not lower his guard. He narrowed his eyes, staring at Jean with apprehension. How dense was this guy? With an aggravated grunt (Honestly it would’ve been less of a headache to just stay home and deal with the lecture) Jean pulled back his jacket to return the weapon to its holster. The cop followed the movement, waiting until the gun was just about away.

He _grinned_.

The officer leapt towards the boy with surprising agility. In a moment of panic, Jean, hand still clutching the gun, whipped it back out and fired, knowing full well that it would have little effect.

Much to his surprise, the blue energy beam sent the man soaring backwards with a heavy skid across the ground. “Holy shit!” Jean glanced down at the weapon in his hands. Part of him was in shock. He didn’t know it could do that to humans too. Hell, he’d assumed it would probably sting at its worst, not that he was willing to explore that theory.

Then there was the other half of him, which was wondering why the fuck he’d nearly been attacked like that. And that _grin._ If Jean didn’t know any better, he’d say that he must’ve been waiting for an opportunity to strike. But what sense did that make? Unsure if he should be apologetic for shooting the guy (and worried because oh shit he just fired at a cop), or pissed because he tried to jump him, Jean opened his mouth to comment, but all words died on his lips when he looked over.

The officer was crouched on the ground where he’d been thrown by the blast. Blue smoke was pouring off him and he _growled_ , glaring at Jean. His body began ripple like waves on a pond, all color melting to a sickly shade of beige. Slowly his form began to change, leaving behind a bony, impish creature. It fixed upon Jean with huge blood red eyes and grinned a vicious grin with its sharp teeth. Jean took a tentative step back, keeping a pointed aim at the monster.

“Clever, using that thing to catch me off guard.” It cackled, a horrible, piercing laugh emitting from its throat and slowly stood, flexing its clawed fingers menacingly. The imp’s body rippled once more, pulling and stretching and changing colors. It lurched upwards into a great black pillar, scales forming along the length of its body. It’s head flattened and mouth lengthened, two huge fangs protruding from the newly formed snout.

The head of a giant snake curled down towards Jean, hissing smugly as he stared in absolute horror. “You’re not the only one with a trick of two up their sleeve,” it remarked, hissing it’s words as it spoke. A forked tongue flicked outwards towards Jean and he snapped to his senses, firing off a shot that hit the snake in the cheek. The force was enough to toss its head backwards to overlap the long, sinuous body. It swiveled around, roaring at the human who would dare to strike it a second time. Its narrow pupils dilated even further with rage and Jean did the one thing he could in this sort of situation.

He ran.

* * *

Marco stirred from a dreamless nap, twisting and turning until he was successfully tangled in his blankets and unsuccessfully back in the realm of the sleeping. He groaned, groping groggily for the spectacles that rested on his bedside table. An uneasy feeling had settled over him, one that decided it was important enough to rouse him to the waking world.

Kicking himself free of his blanket prison (and eventually fazing out when it didn’t work), Marco stretched and glanced around the immediate area. He picked his phone off the other pillow. He wasn’t getting back to sleep anytime soon, so might as well let Jean what was up. He typed out his message and set his phone down where the glasses once sat, getting up to grab one of his textbooks in the meantime.

When ten minutes passed without any form of response, his premonition began to hold more weight.

The freckled teen grabbed his phone again, this time pulling up Jean’s name under his contacts and making a call. It rang for what felt like ages, Marco biting at his lip the entire time, before a click came.

_“Hello.”_

Marco lit up. “Jean! I-“

_“Yeah, so obviously I’m not available right now, so tell me why you called and I might respond if it’s not stupid.”_

The voicemail beeped, but Marco hung up before he had the opportunity to respond to it. That dread was only sinking in deeper, but he couldn’t jump to conclusions. Not just yet. Maybe Jean was taking a shower, or playing his music too loud to hear his phone. He should wait a little while longer for a reply before he started fearing the worst.

That’s what he _told_ himself at least, practically flying down the stairs to the first floor of the apartment complex. He ran to the Kirschstein residence, urgently ringing the doorbell. Please be there, please be there, _please…_

“YOUNG MAN YOU HAD BETTER- oh, Marco, it’s you! Sorry about that.” Adele Kirschstein had opened the door with a thunderous roar, quickly relenting when she noticed Marco and the look of pure terror his face had adopted from the sudden outburst. “I don’t know why I thought he’d ring the doorbell. He doesn’t even do that at your place, does he?” She sighed, leaning moodily on the doorframe.

Marco paled. That was not a good sign. If Jean wasn’t at home, then that only confirmed his suspicions. His best friend was in trouble.

“How is my Jean-boy, anyway? Did he say anything?” she said, looking at Marco hopefully. “He _is_ with you, isn’t he?”

“Oh! Y-yeah! Of course!” he answered quickly. “He, uh, didn’t tell me much, but I came down to see how everything was.”

She smiled, giving Marco’s hair a ruffle. “You’re such a thoughtful boy. Can you tell him that I understand why he’s upset and that I’ll listen to whatever he has to say to me?”

He nodded, masking his own worry. “Will do, Mrs. Kirschstein.”

“Thank you, Marco.” She ducked back into the apartment and when the door shut he released a breath that he hadn’t realized he was even holding. So Jean was avoiding his mother after another one of their arguments, but why hadn’t he come to his place like he normally did?

The answer came swiftly as Marco remembered he himself had just been sleeping for the past hour, under Jean’s orders no less, and the blond probably didn’t want to disrupt him.

Which meant he had gone somewhere outside of the apartment.

After sunset.

Alone.

Marco didn’t entertain the thought for a second more before he was donning his alter ego and flying out through the nearest wall, praying that he got to Jean before anything else did.


	9. Not as it Seems

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since last chapter was a bit on the short side, here's a nice long one to make it up to you all.

It did not take long for Marco to track down the source of his concerns. He was eastbound, set on a random course because he lacked a destination, when he caught a glimpse of something large out of the corner of it eye, spectral glow cutting through the dark. He made a sharp intake of breath as he recognized the aura. Blood red, the same as the ghost that’d escaped them on the day before Halloween.

The halfa made a sharp turn, moving to cut it off. The ghost was moving quickly, like it was either running from or _for_ something.

Or someone, he reminded himself grimly, swallowing a nervous lump.

As he flew closer, Marco was able to finally make out the details of the scene. Jean was running along an empty street, twisted around to take the occasional shot at the gigantic ghostly serpent that was pursuing him, shots keeping it at bay to a certain extent.

Marco briefly entertained the quandary that the ghost from before had not been snake-like by any stretch of the imagination yet the signature was identical, but did not have the luxury to dwell over it in the current moment. He acted instead, diving down to bring his feet crashing onto the serpent’s snout, just as it opened its jaws to strike. He forced its head to the ground, the rest of the body falling into a tangled heap behind it at the sudden loss of momentum.

“Marco?!” Jean exclaimed, skidding to a halt in order to stare in disbelief at his rescuer. “What are you doing here?”

“Wondering the same about you!” the halfa snapped, hands slotting to his hips. “Do you realize how worried I was when you didn’t answer your phone?”

The blond clicked his tongue, looking away. “Well _sorry._ It’s kinda hard to reply to messages when you’re trying not to get eaten.” He gestured pointedly to the snake under Marco’s feet, still stunned from the force of the surprise attack. “FYI, big guy here definitely was not amused when the Ghostbusters’ theme went off in the middle of the battle.”

“I _told_ you not to make that my alert tone.”

“And miss such a golden opportunity, are you out of your mind?” Marco sighed, facepalming. Jean seemed completely unconcerned with the entire situation, so that was a good sign that he was okay.  

The body underneath him began to stir, disrupting his balance. With an impressive flip, Marco leapt off and landed beside Jean just as the serpent reared back up, trashing its head. It hissed angrily and flicked a forked tongue out towards the two boys.

“Watch out, Marco. This thing can change forms or something. I’ve already seen it do it twice.”

Eyes widened. A shape-shifter! And probably the same one his parents were researching. Now things were beginning to add up. That’s why its appearance held such a shocking deviation from the day prior, and how it had been able to appear and disappear without a trace. It hadn’t teleported; it’d shifted to a size that couldn’t be detected via the naked eye. Perfect for avoiding ghost hunters and sneak attacks.

This time, however, it was going for the direct approach. Scales shifted as it loomed over them, menacing eyes narrowing to thin slits. “It appears I may have had the wrong target,” it hissed, curling around them in a loose circle. Marco felt his body move on instinct, inching himself between Jean and the snake. His fists tensed, charging with energy. “I won’t make that mistake this time!”

The ghost lunged forward, jaws agape. Marco shoved Jean back as they skidded out of the way and the snake’s snout met the hard ground. The pavement cracked under the force of the impact and scaly coils lashed out in frustration. They ducked under a wildly flailing tail, moving back to prepare for the inevitable counterstrike. It rose with a familiar roar, locking in on its prey, who had already locked in their own attacks. The specter found itself pelted by blasts of purple and blue, unable to act accordingly under the onslaught. It squirmed, an irate hiss emerging as it tried to break through, the boys doing all they could just to hold the aggressor back.

“I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up!” Marco admitted, a bead of sweat running down the bridge of his nose. He could feel his attacks getting weaker from continued use. Jean made a grunt in agreement. Ray guns were nice for the unlimited ammo factor, but it was beginning to overheat in his hands. He trusted Marco’s craftsmanship, but he had it on full power and continuous fire; there was just no way to predict that level of stress.

“Think we could risk a temporary cease fire?”

Marco’s eyes shifted to Jean, then the snake, and finally back to Jean again. “Not really. Are you gonna try anyway?”

He grinned. “On three we split. One, two, three!” The offensive halted and they both picked a direction, darting away from the huge serpent. It lingered in shock for a brief second, but was on Marco’s trail almost instantly. Jean cursed under his breath, doubling back once he’d realized his plan wasn’t going to work as well as he’d intended.  

A section of scaled tail was advancing upon him from the wide turn the snake made and he took a gamble, leaping up as it passed. The serpent twitched when it felt the human clambering up onto its back, but ultimately decided the halfa was more important and continued pursuit. It briefly turned intangible, causing Jean to fall through to the ground. He landed on the pavement with a thud while it slithered past.

“Hey, don’t ignore me you giant worm!” He roared, picking himself up to try again. He took a running leap back up onto the snake and stomped down roughly on its spine, causing a reflexive jerk.

That did it.

The ghost twisted around, glaring at Jean with a flick of a forked tongue. It lunged and Jean slid off to avoid being skewered by the long fangs. It chased after him, determined to rid itself of this distraction, following the winding path Jean took as he weaved and sprinted to evade attacks.

“Hey, Scaly!” Marco quickly swooped down, regaining its attention with a quick shot to the back of the head. It rounded on him with a growl and Marco ducked through a loop in the snake’s coils Jean had created as it chased him, leading the head through. He circled back, watching the serpent foolishly draw itself into a knot and joined Jean at his side, out of range of the snapping jaws.

“Scaly?” the blond asked when the halfa touched down. “That’s the best you’ve got?”

“Shut up. I’m not good with witty banter, okay?”

“Oh, but you have no problem back sassing me?”

The halfa flushed purple and looked away. “That’s different.”

“ _Bull_ shit it is!”

They jumped, interrupted by a piercing roar. The entangled snake had stopped struggling and was melting into a rippling sliver. Jean barked a warning to his companion, recognizing the signs of a shape shift. The ghost shrunk and stretched to a lizard like form, launching itself at the halfa. With the new, smaller likeness, it moved quicker than they could anticipate and floored Marco, pinning his arms to the ground underneath claw-like hands.

“Marco!” Jean shouted, jumping to action, but he was knocked aside by a thick tail. The ghost grinned, pleased with itself, and looked down at its more captive opponent. It snorted in alarm when it found nothing beneath it but concrete and then suddenly a gloved fist, bursting up through the sidewalk to connect solidly with the shape-shifter’s narrow muzzle. It flew back several feet, landing in a heap.

But Marco wasn’t letting up just yet. While it was still off guard, he let off a burst of energy from his hands, and Jean quickly followed up with his ray gun. The beams combined mid-air, fusing into a single violet burst that struck the unsuspecting target. The large, serpentine form it had taken before may have been able to weather their attacks, but this smaller body was more susceptible to the barrage of spectral energy and was tossed back even further.

Steam from the blasts rolled off the lithe body and the ghost glared at them, grinding its sharp teeth. “Next time, halfa,” it hissed, body rippling and, before either could react, it was gone without a trace.

“Yeah you better run!” Jean snapped, throwing a fist to the air. Marco only frowned, not quite as pleased with their triumph.

That was twice now they’d been given the slip by this same ghost and the circumstances couldn’t have been any more different. This time it had displayed intelligence, and not just through coherent speech. Its attacks had thought behind them, unlike the tactic of charging senselessly that had defined their first fight. Before it may have been acting on the effects of Halloween, thrown into the blind rage that many ghosts exhibited; this time it knew exactly what it was doing. And, to possibly make matters worse, it retreated. There wasn’t a reason to forfeit this time around; it was more than enough match for two inexperienced ghost fighters, but it had anyway, and not without leaving a warning.

Something was up. Something was going on and he didn’t like it one bit.

He was snapped from his thoughts by a hand waving in front of his face. “Earth to Marco. You still in there?”

He blinked, facing Jean and suddenly remembered what had brought him out there in the first place. “Why were you wandering out here alone? You know it’s dangerous!”

The blond sighed heavily, holstering his gun now that the threat had passed. “I was t _rying_ not to disturb you while you were sleeping, though you can guess how well that turned out. I just needed to escape for a little while, clear out my head.”

Marco’s gaze softened. “She’s worried about you, you know.”

He scoffed. “She’s always worried. Just don’t tell her I almost got eaten by a delusional snake, or else she’d probably never let me leave the apartment again.”

“Delusional?”

The blond nodded, folding his arms against his chest. “That ghost… it thought I was you for some reason.”

Marco blinked, quirking his head to the side and Jean shrugged. “Right? But it came after me, shouting ‘Halfa! Show your true form!’ and ‘Shed your disguise!’ even though I kept saying I was human. Like, I get that I’m around you all the time, but it’s not like we look the same.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Marco said, casually tossing an arm over his companion’s shoulder. “I think we could practically be twins.”

Jean snorted. “As if. I’m clearly better looking.”

“Yes, clearly,” the older teen quipped, ruffling Jean’s hair and earning an elbow to the ribs for his efforts. The halfa chuckled, circling once as he floated out of the range of any more attacks. “That’s odd, though. That ghost’s seen us together before, it should’ve known you were human.”

Jean fixed his hair from where Marco has mussed it, pausing to glance at the halfa in confusion. “It has?”

“Shape-shifter,” he reminded him. “That was the same ghost Buchwald chased off.”

“Seriously?” He let out a low whistle. “He must’ve addled its brains then. And even ignoring the fact that that thing’s fought us before, can’t you guys like, sense your own kind or something? Like Ymir did with you?”

“That’s… ah… it’s a bit more complicated than that…” The blond quirked a confused eyebrow and Marco sighed. “Different ghosts probably have different methods,” he explained. “I don’t know how Ymir does it, but I personally can’t _sense_ anything. I can see ghostly energy, which could mean so many things.”

He closed his left eye, allowing the damaged one to scan the area unhindered. Trost in general had the faint aura of spectral energy hanging about ambient; a dusty shade of green that was unnoticeable if he didn’t focus heavily on it. Just where they were, however, there were patches of a fading red from where the ghost’s attacks had missed them and collided with the ground, which Marco conveyed. He also explained how, if prolonged exposure with an ectoplasmic entity occurs, anything can pick up a bit of that ghost’s signature, even if it’s not spiritual in origin. Most of the stuff in Daz’s loft was like that, and he smiled fondly, looking over Jean and the slight purple he carried from spending so much of his time around the half ghost.

The slight purple that another ghost could probably pick up on and interpret as the suppressed aura of a halfa in human form.

Marco snapped his eye open, catching Jean by surprise, and exclaimed “You have my ectosignature!”

The blond stared back dumbly. “Hah?”

He took a deep breath. “A ghost’s energy doesn’t only rub off on inanimate objects, it can happen with people too. And you have a bit of mine.”

“Really? Sweet. If I get enough of it, do I get some of your powers?”

Marco scowled at him. “Jean, be serious. _That’s_ why that ghost was after you. It registered my ectosignature and thought you were me.” He paused, running his fingers through his white hair. That explained everything. The ghost must’ve relied on sense more than vision. It might’ve even been blind- sight wasn’t entirely necessary for some ghosts since they could just pass through objects and judge their surroundings from the ambient energy. It didn’t matter how different he and Jean looked because they gave off the same signature and that’s what it was tracking. “Oh no… that means this is all my fault. I’m putting you in so much danger. A-and possibly my parents and-“

Jean slapped his hands over Marco’s cheeks, forcing the halfa to look at him. “Stop. You’re not putting anyone in danger.” Marco didn’t look overly convinced, so he sighed and took a step back. “Your parents work with ghosts for a living, they can handle themselves. And they probably have, like, a million ecto-whatevers on them.”

“Ectosignatures,” he corrected and took a moment to think it over. Actually, he wasn’t entirely sure that his parents even _had_ his signature on them. The energy surrounding them was an odd sort of rainbow with a cornucopia of signatures that wore off and changed every now and then. They would be hard to look at if his correctional glasses didn’t also serve as a handicap for that particular power. But even with the glimpses he still managed to get, he never really caught his purple amongst the array of colors.

Marco was going to mention his friends too, but, thinking on it more, Sasha and Connie didn’t have it either. Ymir had mentioned- and demonstrated- that his signature was only present when in ghost form, and Jean was the only one to be around him during those times.

“But what about you?”

He leaned back, stretching. “What about me… Guess I’m just fucked then.”

“ _Jean!”_

“What? If I’m already marked, there’s not much we can do about it, right?”

Marco groaned, dropping his ghostly form. “You are impossible, you know that?” he said as he transformed back.

“I try.”

They immediately returned to the complex with the coast now clear, trusting that the shape-shifting ghost wasn’t going to come back for a rematch right away. Jean was escorted home to a worried mother, who immediately swept the surly teenager up into her arms in a weird combination of overbearing affection and lecturing. Marco was invited inside to spare him the embarrassment of the full speech- Mrs. Kirschstein was not fond of disciplining her son when company was around, even when that company was practically another member of the family. Jean knew he was just prolonging the inevitable, but maybe she’d forget if the brunet stuck around long enough.

They greeted Jean’s bed with tired sighs, not caring how much of each other’s personal space they invaded. The mattress creaked in complaint at their combined deadweight hitting it at once.

“Well, that was interesting,” the blond remarked, his head hanging off the edge of the mattress. He propped up one leg and nudged Marco gently in the side with his foot.

“You and I define that term _very_ differently.” He was lying on his stomach, lower half of his face buried in his forearms. He watched Jean’s face slowly grow increasingly red as the blood rushed into it.

“You know what I mean,” he grumbled. “What do you think that ghost wanted with you?”

Marco sighed. That was the question of the hour. “I don’t know, Jean, and honestly I-“ He was interrupted by a buzzing in his pocket. Furrowing his brows, Marco sat up and fished out his cell phone to check the display. Jean was up too, looking over the top of the phone. “Krista? I wonder what this is about.” He put the phone on speaker so they could both listen to the message and answered her call.

_“Marco, I’m so glad I reached you,”_ her voice crackled through the receiver.

“Hey, Krista. What’s going on? Is there something happening I should be concerned with?”

_“I’m not sure yet, but you might want to keep an eye out. On Halloween they brought in a rather violent shape-shifting ghost and were conducting some kind of experiment with it. Unfortunately, I think that experiment may have either destroyed it or driven it to somehow escape, because Ymir and I haven’t seen a sign of it all day.”_

“A bit late for that,” Jean commented dryly.

_Ah, Jean. You’re there too,”_ she exclaimed. “ _Oh dear. Have you actually encountered it?”_

Jean opened his mouth to remark, but Marco quickly clamped a hand over it. “Just now, but it managed to get away from us.” He shuddered at the feel of something wet running against his palm and pulled away with a silent squeak, glaring at Jean reproachfully.

The line went quiet for a few moments. _“I see…”_ she said after a while. _“Well we’ll keep an eye out here if they catch it again. Until then, please be careful. I can’t tell you what’s going on, but I know that ghost is **highly** dangerous.”_

“Alright, we’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, Krista,” Marco said. Jean managed a grunt of acknowledgement before the halfa hung up and turned on him with a disapproving frown. “You _licked_ me!”

“Don’t cover up my mouth then! What did you even think I was gonna do?” Marco raised an eyebrow in a challenging gesture. “…you know what, nevermind.”

“Can we please focus on what we just found out? That ghost escaped from Sina. Do you realize what this means?”

“They need better security?” Jena ventured, scratching at the inside of his ear.

“No. It means it’s more dangerous than we thought, just like Krista said.” The halfa ran his hands through his bangs, covering his face. “Oh this is exactly what I was afraid of,” he mumbled through his palms.

Jean frowned, placing himself directly in front of the brunet. “Marco. What are you talking about?” He moved his hands to his lap, glancing up timidly. “…is this about that thing you won’t tell me?”

He bit at his lower lip and nodded.

“But why-“

“Maybe…” the halfa started. “Maybe I should deal with this on my own.”

“What! Why?” Jean snapped.

“Because this has nothing to do with you. For some reason it wants me and you’ll just get caught up in the crossfire again,” he exclaimed, the words of Sina echoing in his head.

The blond fumed, grabbing at his shoulders. “And you honestly think you can take it alone?! You just said it yourself, it’s more dangerous than we thought, and you really want to do this on your own.” He didn’t answer. “That’s probably the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say!”

Marco’s hands clenched into fists. “I just don’t want something horrible to happen because of me.”

“And it won’t.” Jean reached out, placing a hand on Marco’s. He looked up over the top of his glasses. “I swear nothing’s gonna happen. Not if we do this together.”

“Jean…”

From the other room they heard Jean’s mother announcing that dinner was ready and their stomachs loudly reminded them that ghost escapades had kept both of them from a regularly scheduled meal. Just as they moved to the doorway to head out to the dining room, Jean placed a hand on Marco’s shoulder, halting him for a second.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily. Like it or not, I’m involved in this and I’m _not_ leaving your side.” He smiled, giving the halfa’s shoulder a quick pat before moving out into the hall.

Marco lingered behind for a second longer, whispering to himself. “I wish that was as reassuring as you think it was.”

* * *

Two days later, Jean was on a bathroom break from Algebra that he did not intend on returning from when he got another chance to experience just what Marco was so worried about. He was progressing down the corridors, fanning himself with the hallway pass when he rounded the corner and happened upon a strange sight. A student he didn’t recognize was standing in the center of the empty hallway, frozen in what appeared to be deep concentration.

He didn’t move, or acknowledge the echo of Jean’s footsteps behind him, only continued to stare down at the wall at the far end of the hall. Before Jean could either announce his presence or turn back before he was noticed, the stranger clicked his tongue, shifting slightly. The small sound bounced off the lockers, magnifying its volume. “It’s just you again.”

Jean took an apprehensive step back. “Who are you?” he demanded. The boy didn’t answer his question. Instead he slowly turned around, allowing Jean to gaze upon a pair of piercing red eyes that had been burned into his memory after the other night. “The shape-shifter!” His hand flew under his jacket, but gripped at empty space. Jean cursed. Of course his weapon wasn’t there; he deliberately left it at home because the risk of being found with it on school grounds was too great to chance.

“So you humans aren’t completely stupid,” the disguised ghost taunted, approaching with slow, calculated steps. “Now, where is that halfa friend of yours? I don't know how to locate his human form.”

He glared. “Like I’d tell _you_.”

The shape-shifter regarded him in an unamused manner. “Fine. I’ll just have to use you to draw him out again.” The ghost displayed once more just how it had gained the reputation for being difficult to handle, reshaping into an ogre-like beast that’s head nearly reached the ceiling. A giant fist slammed into the wall, smashing the lockers under its weight.

And that would be his cue to beat it. He darted down the corner, listening to the stomps of his pursuer not far behind. The noise had already attracted attention from nearby classrooms and somebody had activated the alarm, which blared loudly over the speakers, alerting the rest of the school to the danger. The ghost seemed unfazed by the noise.

Switching hallways again, Jean escaped into the hopefully empty bathroom, noting the incredible irony of his hiding spot. He leaned on the sink counter to catch his breath, staring at his reflection in the smudged mirror. If that ghost really was using the traces of Marco’s ectosignature to locate him, then he wasn’t sure this hiding spot was going to last him very long.

In the reflection, he caught movement behind him and quickly spun around. A muscled arm was reaching out of the wall, soon followed by the bulbous head of the shape-shifter’s current form. The other arm thrust out to block his exit as the hand stretched forward to grab him. Jean pressed himself as far back into the counter as he could, fingers clenched around the tiled slate. He ducked under at the last second and the ghost’s hand collided with the sink, breaking it with the sheer force. Water gushed from the broken pipes, splattering the face of the culprit. It sputtered, distracted, and Jean took the opportunity to slide underneath the arm blocking the doorway.

Back out into the open, Jean nearly collided with another student as he ran into the hallway. The teachers had begun the evacuation process, leading the flood of teenagers calmly and orderly to the nearest exit to the building. Jean eased himself into the crowd, wondering just how calm and orderly they would remain once the ghost appeared.

He weaved his way further back into the congregation of students, hoping to get lost in the masses. Screams from around the corner told him that the ghost had escaped the bathroom. People around him began to run, feeding into the chaos. If that ghost was trying to find him again, it was sure going to have a hell of a time doing it in this commotion.

He scanned the crowd, looking for familiar faces, Marco in particular since he was the one at the greatest risk. Not only was the shape-shifter looking for him, but with all these people around, the halfa would have a hard time trying to combat the issue without anyone getting caught up in it.

And then he saw it. The white-haired figure flying low above the crowd, followed by a chorus of alarmed gasps and screams. “MA-“ He bit his tongue. He wanted to call out to him, to offer his aid, but there was nothing Jean could do for his friend at this point without blowing his cover, so he let himself be swept away with the crowd.

Once outside, he quickly found Sasha and Connie, who, turns out, hadn’t been that far away from him. To his credit Connie was really freaking short and Sasha’s brown hair didn’t really stand out, but that was besides the point.

“Jean! Can you believe it? _Trost-pera_ is here!” Connie announced, waving his arms frantically. The blond leaned back to avoid being struck in the face by a flailing hand. “He flew right over us and I saw the scar. It was so bad-ass! Better than that weird mask you were wearing.”

“Connie, there is a ghost in our school. He set off the alarms, shouldn’t you be more concerned about that?” Sasha scolded.

“Yeah, but-“

“It wasn’t him,” Jean interrupted. “There’s another one. I saw it.” His face fell to a scowl, staring back at the deceptively quiet building. _Please be okay._

“ _Two_ ghosts?! Are you serious?!”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” he growled, perhaps a bit harsher than he’d intended to be, because the duo flinched at the outburst. “Forget it,” he muttered, stiffly returning to his watch of the building.

Around them, dispatchers from Sina were beginning to pour in, called in by the alarm. They placed themselves strategically around the perimeter, preparing various weapons and machines. Jean frowned. Their assistance wasn’t entirely reassuring; it could shift the battle in either direction depending on whomever they had the greater prejudice towards.

Everyone waited for several minutes in a tense silence. They were just about to send a few scouts inside to flush out the ghosts when Marco burst out through the roof, being flanked by a large bird of some sort, its wings flickering like flames. He held his arms up to protect his face from clawing talons, maneuvering in the air to try and escape. He quickly threw up a small shield, forcing it away long enough for the halfa to put some distance between himself and the true ghost.

“Stop right there you phantoms!” Reinforcements had all their weapons trained on the two ghosts, waiting for either one to make one false move.

Something about their presence must have seriously spooked the shape-shifter because it squawked in alarm and disappeared immediately, leaving Marco alone. He lingered for a few moments, eyes scanning the crowd, before he too popped out of visibility.

“Jean.” He jumped in alarm when Sasha placed a hand on his shoulder. She pulled back, worried look on her face. “They’re gone. You can relax now.”

He unclenched his fists, realized in that moment just how tense he’d been. All his muscles had locked up, wanting to spring into action, but being unable to do so. Both of them were looking at him now, eyes full of concern.

“You okay, man?” Connie asked. “You look like someone just insulted your honor or something.”

He shook his head, trying to relax himself. “No, no. I’m good. Sorry, not sure what came over me.”

Sasha and Connie exchanged a look, but did not share whatever was on their mind.

With a damages report needing to be done and Sina representatives scanning over the site to make sure no more ectoplasmic entities were lingering, students were dismissed for the remainder of the day. Jean barely bid his friends a goodbye before he was rushing towards his home.

He didn’t stop running until he got to the Bodt residence and let himself in in his usual manner, panting heavily as he tossed his bag to the floor.

Marco was easy enough to spot, perched in the center of the couch with a blanket drawn up over his head so that it covered his entire body from that angle. The television in front of him was on, the news droning away with a live report on the events that had just transpired at the high school.

_“…the intentions of the two ghosts is still uncertain but we believe-“_   Jean wordlessly shut the device off, positioning himself between the one-man blanket fort and the screen. The occupant let out a low noise of protest, but otherwise didn’t budge.

“Marco.”

“Marco’s not here,” the blanket grumbled moodily.

Jean guided himself over to the sofa and sat down on the table in front of the lump. He lifted the cover up to reveal Marco’s face; listless and puffy-eyed from either crying or the continued lack of sleep. Jean could not tell. His glasses hung halfway off his nose and Jean took it upon himself to remove them entirely and set them down on the table. He pushed the blanket off the brunet’s head and it slid to drape around his shoulders, mussing up his usually immaculately parted hair.

Jean almost didn’t recognize this ball of depression that shared his best friend’s face. Brown eyes flickered to his only briefly before they found the floor again, like it was painful for him to look at Jean in the present situation. His arms tightened, hugging his legs closer to his chest. Red scratches stood out against the tan skin, no doubt from the avian form the shape-shifter had taken last.

“They don’t even hurt,” he mumbled, knowing what Jean was looking at. He glanced up to the brunet’s face, but he still wasn’t making eye contact. He shrunk in on himself more, hiding the lower half of his face behind his knees. “How would you feel knowing you suddenly had this huge responsibility of keeping balance between two worlds? And then have to live with the knowledge that you’re putting everyone you care about in danger because of it.”

The blond sighed. “We went over this, you’re not-“

“Jean, save it.” He huddled in more, voice muffled by his knees. “I know it only attacked the school because it was looking for me. And I know it went after you when it couldn’t find me.”

Jean sighed again. Of course he did. “Did you figure that out, or did it tell you?”

“A little of both. And I’ve…” His muscles tensed. “I’ve been dreading that something like this would happen for a while now.”

“Let me guess. Halloween?”

Marco nodded. “Before Queen Sina left, she warned me about a danger I have yet to face, one that could threaten the people closest to me.”

Jean scoffed. “What does she know? In case you haven’t noticed, Trost isn’t the safest place in the world. That risk’s always been there.”

He shook his head. “Don’t you get it? This is what she meant. That ghost, and maybe even something else, is after me, and you, by association, because if they track my ectosignature, it’ll lead them to you. And then it’s only a matter of time before everyone else gets dragged into this mess somehow.” He shrunk in on himself a little more. “I didn’t ask for these powers. It was cool, at first, but I hate knowing that every time you get hurt or nearly killed by a ghost, it’s my fault in the end.”

“No, it’s not. Hell, if anything it’s _my_ fault. I’m the one who insisted on tagging along with you.”

“But you wouldn’t have if I hadn’t told you about my powers.” The brunet suddenly shifted, sitting up straight and looking Jean in the eyes for the first time. Their knees knocked together from how close they were sitting.

“And I would’ve found out anyway,” Jean insisted, leaning forward. “I barge in on you too often for you to keep secrets from me. Remember the first time? I scared you so bad you turned invisible, and _then_ you told me what happened.”

The brunet fell silent again, eyes back on the floor. “Well now I’m starting to wonder if it would’ve been better if it never happened. Or if that stupid thing had just finished the job instead of just half killing me,” he whispered.

“No,” Jean said, voice turning serious. He grabbed Marco’s head between his hands, forcing the halfa to look at him. “Don’t you _ever_ say that.”

“But-“

“No. No buts,” he practically growled. “Marco, you…”

Jean sighed, letting his hands falls from his friend’s cheeks to his shoulders, fisting into the blanket as he searched for the right words. Marco was always the one who was better at this sort of thing.

“You probably should’ve died, but you didn’t. You were given these… _amazing_ powers instead. Like, people would _kill_ to be able to do the things you can, Marco.”

“What, like fall on my face when my feet decide to spontaneous sink into the floor?” He tried to force out a chuckle, making light of his power-induced bouts of clumsiness, but it came out as a choked sob instead.

“No, like _help_ people,” Jean emphasized, shaking him lightly. Marco didn’t respond. He leaned forward to rest his head on Jean’s chest, allowing his friend to support his weight. Jean wasn’t used to this. The brunet was usually a walking ray of sunshine, radiating words of encouragement on to sourpusses like Jean who needed the occasional dose of optimism.

Jean patted him on the back and pulled him up again, hands returning to Marco’s shoulders as he forced his gaze back on him. His eyes were shimmering with unshed tears and Jean felt his breath hitch at the sight. “Here, I’ve got something you should see.” He left the halfa briefly, just to return to his bag and fish out a bundle of newspaper. He sat back down, holding the article out in front of him. “I was gonna show you this yesterday and forgot, but I’m glad I did. Now’s probably the best time for you to see this.”

Marco glanced over it. The header read ‘ _Ghost or Guardian Angel?’_ and was covering the house fire from a few days ago. The included photograph was of the child he had rescued, Reilly, smiling proudly as she presented a crayon drawing of what Marco could only assume to be himself, a huge pair of mismatched wings stretched out behind him.

He cracked a faint smile at the image.

Jean pulled down the paper so they were face to face once more. “Now listen to me. Who did this? Who got that little girl out of that burning building?”

“I-I did…” the older teen stuttered. “But that’s only because the firefighters might not have gotten to her in ti-“

“And,” Jean interrupted, “who’s been dealing with all the ghost attacks? And a lot better than the people whose _job_ is deal with them, might I add.”

“Me, but-“

“AND, who’s the one who keeps saving my stupid ass from dumb situations?”

“Jean…”

“The point is, Marco, that yes, its dangerous work, and yeah, it may be a bit of a pain in the ass, but there’s a reason why you have these powers. You’ve done so much good with them and helped so many people, because that’s the type of person you are. You’re always looking out for others. That’s why I’m not worried for my safety, because I know you won’t let anything happen to me. And I’m sure as hell going to do the same for you.”

Jean smiled softly at his friend, reaching up to gently brush away one of the tears that had finally escaped from those brown eyes with his thumb. “Whatever happens, we’ll face it together and everything will be fine. It always is, so screw whatever some old queen told you.”

Marco sniffled, pulling back to wipe his face on his arm. The tears were flowing freely now and Jean stood, grabbing a box of tissue off another table to hand over to Marco, who uttered a quiet thanks as Jean resettled at his side on the sofa.

He took a moment to try and calm himself down before he attempted to speak again. “You know your motivational speeches are just about as refined as everything else that comes out of your mouth,” he said with a chuckle, freckled cheeks still wet with tears.

“Well too bad, cause your stuck with me until the usual guy gets out of his emotional funk.”

Marco bit back a snort, wiping the rest of his face dry now that his emotions were a little more under control. They sat in a comfortable silence for a few moments before Marco finally spoke up again.

“Hey, Jean?” The younger turned his head. “… thanks. I… I really needed to hear that.”

He smiled, leaning over to nudge the halfa with his shoulder. “Hey, you’re always there to cheer me up. It’s about time I returned the favor. But…” He leaned over, serious expression on his face. They were nearly nose-to-nose. “Don’t ever let me catch you like that again. ‘Depressed’ and ‘Marco’ and two things that don’t belong together. At all. Ever.”

The brunet rolled his eyes. “You know I can’t promise something like that. Protecting the town? Coming to terms with my powers? It’s all pretty draining, both physically and emotionally.” Jean frowned, clearly not loving the idea of potentially seeing his best friend wallow in misery again. Marco smiled at him, leaning to the side to rest his head on his shoulder. “But having you here definitely helps.”

Jean tensed for a moment, flushing brightly. He looked down at Marco’s content expression and couldn’t help but mirror it. “I think I can live with that.”


	10. Alone

“You’re going out of town?”

Marco was greeted with a surprising bit of news while eating breakfast bright and early one Thursday morning. Apparently his parents had received the order the previous night at work, but Marco was in bed by the time they arrived home and, thus, they couldn’t relay the message to him as soon as they would have liked. Namely, not first thing in the morning on the day they were expected to be leaving.

“Your father and I have already started packing. They want us out there by this evening, so we’ll likely be gone before you come home from school.” There was a look of discontent that fell to Marco’s face. “Sorry, sweetie. We asked if there was someone else they could send, but they were insistent.”

“It’ll only be for a few days,” his father reassured. “Then we’ll be right home.”

The teenager sighed, staring moodily into his bowl of cereal. He suddenly wasn’t as hungry for it as he was prior. “Where are you even going?”

“Shinganshina. There’s a man there who studies the affects of the supernatural on health- used to do his research here in Trost apparently, but stopped due to personal reasons. They’d like us to work with him for a brief time in order to compare notes,” Victor explained. “We know it’s sudden, but this is very important, breakthrough work. I hope you understand.”

He nodded mutely. No, he definitely understood the significance of this trip; he just wasn’t going to be thrilled about it. Marco may have been used to the long hours his parents put in to their work, but he hated how little he actually got to see them most days.

Though, with all the ghost related drama surrounding him as of late, maybe it was a _good_ thing they were going to another city for a little while. Now if only he could convince them to take a certain punk-rock enthusiast with them…

Isabella had moved to the back of the chair Marco was sitting at. She bent forward, wrapping her arms loosely around his shoulders. “You know, we were promised some paid time off for being sent on this assignment so suddenly. How about, when we get back, we have a big family outing? How does that sound?”

Marco tilted his head back, staring at her in pure disbelief. “Really?!” They _never_ took days off. Okay, well, they did, but only for things like birthdays and the occasional holiday if they could manage it. Trost definitely kept them busy.

She smiled. “Promise. Now, are you going to be okay on your own? You know you can always go downstairs if you need to. I already talked to Adele and she has no issues if you’d prefer to stay with them rather than up here by yourself the whole time.”

“I’ll be fine, Mom. Besides, it’s not like Jean ever lets me have any alone time.”

“Alright then. But if you _need_ to-“

“Oh leave the boy alone, ‘Bella,” Victor interrupted. “He said he’ll be fine. You worry too much, sweetheart.”

She frowned at her husband. “I’m his mother, it’s my job to worry.” She placed a chaste kiss to the back of Marco’s head and released him, allowing him to return to lazily munching on slightly soggy cereal.

They went on to animatedly discussing potential plans for this ‘research expedition’, Marco only half listening with subdued interest. They seemed genuinely intrigued with whatever lay in store for them in Shinganshina, so he supposed he could be content having the apartment to himself for a few days if they were doing what they loved. Plus he would get that long awaited family time once they returned.

Marco finished off his breakfast and wrapped up his morning preparations. Isabella descended upon him with more ‘home alone’ concerns until Victor stepped in to distract her so he could actually set out for the day. They gave him their last goodbyes for what would be a little while, filled with much hugging and ruffling of hair.

“We’ll call once we get settled at the inn. You and Jean try not to have _too_ much fun while we’re gone,” Isabella said, winking, just as he’d escaped their clutches and reached the doorway.

Marco turned beet red, hand frozen on the doorknob. He slowly turned back to his mother, remembering the incident from a few weeks back. “…she told you.”

“You’re not the only one who shares everything with their best friend, sweetie.” Victor looked utterly confused by this exchange, so Marco could breathe a brief sigh of relief that at least his father wasn’t in on this. “Now run along before you’re late for school.”

Completely flushed, Marco stammered out a brief farewell before whisking himself out the door.

Jean was already waiting by the front door for him when he made his way down the flight of stairs that separated their respective floors, and thankfully Marco had rid himself of any traces of a blush on the walk down.

“You’re late,” he commented as the brunet jogged up to him.

“Oh shut up, no I’m not.”

“I got here before you, that automatically makes you late.”

“Does it now…” he murmured, rolling his eyes.

“Yes, it does.” Jean pointedly poked Marco in the forehead, prompting the halfa to swat his hand away. “When do I ever get anywhere before you?” He tilted his head forward, suddenly gaining a more serious expression. “Did something happen?”

“Sort of.” As they headed off for school, he passed on to Jean what his parents had told him only a few moments ago.

“Man, lucky. I wish my mom’s job would send her away for a few days.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, staring at the pavement before his feet. “You know she’s still mad at me for barging out on her last week?”

“Well you did kind of worry her half to death,” Marco mused.

“Nah, the only person I can do that to is you.”

Marco stared at him for a long moment as the joke slowly dawned on him. He sighed heavily, watching the mist arise from his breath. The mid November chill had finally begun to set in and, though it had not begun to snow yet, the temperature was nearing that range. Jean was bundled up more than usual, hood of a thick black jacket drawn up over his head and a scarf obscuring his mouth. Marco was decidedly less bothered by the drop in temperature and didn’t layer himself aside from the usual long-sleeved sweater. Jean was reminded of how cold the brunet’s skin was in ghost form- something Marco himself often forgot- and surmised there was a likely connection.

Marco chalked it up to the ever-growing list of ‘weird side effects to being a halfa’.

“So,” Jean said after a brief period of silence, “I’ve been thinking about that thing we discussed the other day, and I’ve come to realize something.” He paused for dramatic effect, making sure he’d fully captured his audience’s attention. “I think the girls know something they’re not telling us.”

The matter of discussion had been the same issue they’d been facing for the past few weeks; the strange shape-shifting ghost that had suddenly cannonballed into their lives. Namely its lack of prominence following the huge upstart at the school.

After Marco’s last fight with the spirit, it seemed to vanish for good. He hadn’t had another battle with it, or seen it for than matter. The only problem? Neither had Krista and Ymir. They reported a few suspected sightings, but a thorough sweep of the facility always returned with no results. Which meant it was still out there somewhere, buying its time.

The older teen’s eyes widen in surprise. “What? Why would you think they’re withholding information?”

“Think about it. This whole deal with it being at the labs, but not being there just doesn’t make sense. It’s a ghost research lab for fuck’s sake, it shouldn’t be popping in and out at will unless something else was going on. And I’d bet you anything they have an idea what that something is.”

Marco frowned. It made sense, unfortunately. If anyone knew the intricate goings on of Sina, it would be them. “But it doesn’t make sense, Jean. If they do know, then why tell us they’d seen signs of it, but then it got away? Why the half truth?”

“Keep us alert?” He shrugged. Glancing over, he caught the concerned look Marco was giving him and sighed. “Look, I don’t mistrust them, okay? That’s not what I’m getting at. Well, I still don’t _really_ trust Ymir, cause she’s sketchy as fuck, but it seems like she’ll do whatever Krista tells her and Krista genuinely wants to help us. I can tell.” He cast a shy smile over to Marco and pulled his scarf more closely around his face. “But there _has_ to be more going on than we’ve been told.”

Marco briefly recalled their first meeting with the two girls and the strange basement level of the labs that only a select number of individuals were privy to the existence of. Again the queen’s warning haunted him.

“Maybe we’ll know soon enough. For now, let’s just focus on what we _do_ know,” he said, trying to deviate the topic just a bit. “Because I don’t know about you, but having no idea where that ghost is is making me more nervous than fighting it would. Honestly, I’ve had more issues with _Daz_ than the shape-shifter recently.”

Jean laughed a bit before he fully comprehended the implications. “Wait, when did you see Daz?”

“Like, two nights ago.” He paused to rub at the tip of his nose, finding a sudden interest in the dreary landscape of early-morning suburbia.  “I… couldn’t sleep… And I could faintly hear him banging around.”

“And you didn’t come get me?” Jean sounded mildly offended and all the brunet could do was give him an astonished look.

“It was three in the morning!”

“So? I was probably still up.” Marco let out a sigh of exasperation and shook his head. “Come on, what happened to all that ‘we’re in this together’ stuff I told you?”

“Jean.” Marco placed a hand on his shoulder, drawing them both to a temporary halt. “I appreciate the concern, but seriously? I don’t really need your help to have a conversation with the resident poltergeist. You… kinda make it harder than it needs to be, actually.” Jean scowled at him, causing Marco to giggle at the expression on his face. He pulled his hand away. “Besides, you hate it when I drag you up there.”

“Okay fine, point taken.” He shoved his hands further into his pockets, grumbling a bit to himself, and resumed walking, Marco could have bothered to at least _mention_ something about it. “At least tell me what he’s on about this time.”

“Remember when he was saying that someone broke in and stole all his forks?” The blond nodded, vaguely remembering that conversation. He usually just blocked out most of his encounters with the poltergeist. Okay, _all_ of them. Maybe it was better that Marco hadn’t brought him along afterall. “Well apparently it happened again and this time they made off with some old clothes.”

“…clothes?” Marco nodded in affirmation, shrugging as though to say ‘Yeah, I don’t get it either’. “Why does he even care, its not like he needs to change clothes. Or can. Can ghosts change clothes?”

“Maybe…? It probably depends, but that’s not even the worst part. No one besides us ever goes up there, so I’m not even sure any of this stuff is actually missing.”

Jean furrowed his brows. “So, what? You think he’s faking it for attention?”

“No. I think he’s confused. He flickers in and out so much that it _has_ to be messing with his head. Like he’s mixing up parts of his life with his afterlife.”

“How _did_ Daz die anyway, do you know?”

Marco shook his head. “I’ve never asked. Just… seems kind of rude to, you know? I doubt many ghosts want to recount what killed them.” The hand gripping his backpack strap tightened slightly and he spoke in a hushed tone. “I don’t even like thinking about the accident, and I’m technically still alive.”

They both fell silent. Jean lingered on the somber look Marco had adopted and drew his scarf up higher. It was safe to assume that that would be the end of that discussion for a while.

Repairs on the damages the school had sustained during Marco’s last battle with the shape-shifter were still slowly being executed, but nearing the finishing stages. The destruction caused was minor enough that normal functions could continue around the restoration (Jean had scolded him for not doing _more_ damage. A few days off from school would’ve been greatly appreciated), and students ducked around caution tape and safety cones as they went about their usual routine, dodging the occasional contractor in the hallways. Marco let slip that the principal may have taken some liberties with the damage reports, because work was being done in areas that the two ghosts had been nowhere near when they brawled.

As the two entered the building, they immediately deviated to their alternate route so as to entirely avoid the roped off obstacle course where the ceiling lights were being rewired and replaced. That was one of the areas that Marco did admit to having a hand in destroying. Apparently the insulating rubber of electrical wires doesn’t protect from spectral energy very well.

The new path brought them around to where Connie’s locker was located, and where, conveniently, the other two members of their little gang were currently hanging out. They passed on the news about Marco’s temporary living conditions, which was met with great enthusiasm.

“Dude! We should _totally_ throw a sleepover tomorrow night if they’re gonna be out again!” Connie proposed.

“Yeah! Bad movies, snacks, and pissing off your downstairs neighbors,” Sasha added, tossing an arm around her smaller friend’s shoulders.

“Please don’t. I think the old couple who lives under me is still mad about the last sleepover we had,” Marco whined, thinking about the disapproving stares he got last time he passed them in the hallway. They probably should’ve been quieter when they’d rearranged the furniture to construct a fort, given how late at night it had been.

“Pfft, oh please. Just blame it on that poltergeist you’ve got up there. Ooh! I wonder if we can flush it out, we’ve still never seen it,” she mused, turning to Connie, who nodded in agreement. Jean and Marco shared a brief glance. They could only imagine how well that would turn out, given Daz’s general disposition towards the living and the tender mood he was currently in. Not to mention the huge secret blowing potential any interaction with him would bring.

Marco lightly cleared his throat. “Slow down guys, now might not be the best time to stay over. I’ve got some important things I need to taken care of.” They rushed in on him, staring up with big, pleading, puppy-dog eyes. Marco sighed. “I’ll think about it.”

Cheering, Sasha and Connie retracted themselves from his personal bubble, giving Marco space to breathe again. “But I won’t know anything for sure until tonight. I’ll give you an answer first thing tomorrow morning, okay?” he added, just as the first warning bell rang and they were forced to depart for their respective classes.

“You’d better not forget!” Sasha called over her shoulder. Marco laughed and sent a lazy wave back in her direction as they were soon lost to the incoming flood of students.

* * *

Marco certainly didn’t forget, but he didn’t have an answer yet either as he lay awake in his empty apartment, listening to the creak of the old building.

He rolled over on his side to stare at the clock on his bedside table. 2:07, the neon numbers read back to him, the little flashing ‘AM’ in the corner seeming to laugh at his inability to sleep. Sighing, he flipped onto his back once more and traced invisible patterns on the ceiling.

There had been no further news from Krista or Ymir on the status of their ectoplasmic fugitive. He’d been hopeful, because that was going to put a damper on any potential nighttime plans for tomorrow. He’d loved the opportunity to hang out with his friends, and he didn’t want to disappoint them, but, as the current situation stood, he would have to. What if he finally got that call, but couldn’t slip away because he was hanging out with them? What if the ghost decided to strike first, and they got caught up in the skirmish? What if-

Marco groaned, fingers fisting in his hair as he rolled back onto his side, his mind running at a million miles per second.

He looked back at the clock. 2:08.

Frustrated, Marco kicked off his blankets and sat up in bed. It was no good. At this rate he was never going to get a wink of sleep. He swung his legs around, bare feet connecting with the cold, wooden floor. He needed to do something, to clear his mind from the overload of worries. A late night stroll in the cool November air might to the trick.

Or, better yet, a late night flight.

The dark room was illuminated by a flash and then the steady hum of a halfa’s glow. The light spread to the other rooms as he struck a path for the outside world, not having to worry about his parents stumbling across him. Grinning to himself, he took a running leap at the far wall and passed effortlessly through it. A chill autumn wind greeted him immediately, sweeping through snow-white locks. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. The suburban air wasn’t as fresh as he would’ve liked, but it was an improvement to his stuffy room. Already he could feel some of his worries melting away to the night.

He ascended higher, over the buildings, pulling himself further away from civilization. He shifted, floating lazily on his back as he sent himself adrift and watched the stars. A cloud glided across the waning gibbous that lighted the dark, casting a shadow on the world below. It felt… free. Like the sky was his ocean.

He drifted into a lazy, semi-conscious state for an amount of time he could not determine before rousing again. Marco did a flip to right himself, taking the chance to look at the surroundings below. He’d wandered out of the sight of the apartments, heading towards the wooded area where he liked to train.

There was a glowing speck of blue loitering within his field of vision, close to ground level. Great, a ghost. Just the thing he was trying to get his mind off of. He dipped a bit lower to see more clearly. Maybe this one wasn’t hostile. After all there was no need to jump to conclusions if it was going to lead to an unnecessary battle.

As he approached, trying to remain undetected, the aura started to look familiar to him. The dull, moody shade of blue was definitely one he’d seen before, and it was one he shouldn’t be seeing given who the owner was.

Thoroughly confused, Marco ventured close enough to the other ghost to alert it to his existence and called out. “Daz?”

He’d heard him for certain, because no sooner had Marco spoken, had the poltergeist gone rigid and bolted, moving far faster than the halfa thought him capable.

“Daz, wait!” he yelled after him, flying off in pursuit. Had he left his post in order to seek out the alleged thieves that had broken into his loft? Marco had always assumed that the poltergeist was tied to the building, given that he’d been there for decades with no reports of ever venturing out into the world. Many ghosts found themselves linked to a location of significance to their lives, it was a safe assumption to make.

But Marco knew his aura well, and the panicked reaction was very indicative. Apparently Daz was not as tethered as previously thought, but his venture into the open city was naught but a cause for concern. Poltergeists had the potential to be a severe danger to the public, especially those that functioned on paranoia and a fear of humans, which Daz would find no shortage of if he wandered around for too much longer.

Marco tried calling out to him again, but the other ghost paid his words no mind. He was leading the halfa on a wild goose chase, staying just enough ahead that Marco could trace his movements, but far enough away that he was unable to apprehend him. Usually the teen would just employ an energy blast to derail his target’s escape, but Daz was considered a friend in some strange sense and he didn’t wish to harm him.

The pursuit continued. Daz was leading him further and further into the trees, weaving about in a complicated flight pattern. Marco would’ve been impressed, had he not tired of this game of cat-and-mouse. Already they had lost sight of any buildings and, if he could even manage to catch the poltergeist at this point, it was going to be a nuisance trying to guide him back into his loft.

They broke through into an open field and Daz finally relented, hovering just above the ground in the center, his back turned to Marco. The halfa landed at the edge of the field, a grateful sigh escaping his lips.

“Finally! I thought I’d never catch up to you,” he wheezed, slightly out of breath. “Why’d you run, didn’t you recognize me? It’s only been a few days, you honestly can’t have-“ He had been walking up to the poltergeist when he suddenly froze, eyes adjusting. Daz was not in his usual outfit, he instead wore a worn military jacket, littered with rips and tears. His dreary aura emanated off the article of clothing, but did not seem to originate from the rest of his body. That was giving off another color entirely, obscured by the blue of the poltergeist.

Marco took a step back. “You’re not Daz.”

The other chuckled, back still turned. “Is that his name?” Not-Daz spoke, the cool, sinister tone he used ill fitting to the poltergeist’s usually shrill, panicked voice. It sent a shiver down Marco’s spine. “I can mimic everything about a ghost, you know. Everything but their signature. That required some additional resources.”

Marco encircled his hands in spheres of energy, having a sinking suspicion of just what he was dealing with. “So he wasn’t lying. Someone _did_ steal his things.”

“Well I needed something to lure you out here alone.” The ghost, shape-shifter, as Marco had come to realize, had turned around to face him. It was Daz’s face that stared back, a wicked grin stretching across those gaunt features. The whole thing left Marco feeling unsettled. “You always had help and it was making this very difficult.”

“What do you want from me?” Marco asked, narrowing his eyes. He was taking slow steps back towards the trees, cursing himself to being dumb enough to fall for what hindsight revealed to be an obvious trap. He knew it was dangerous, so he shouldn’t have been out alone in the first place. That was the type of thing he usually had to scold Jean about.

For every step Marco took back, the ghost glided forward just a bit. “I don’t want anything from you, but that decision’s not up to me.” The shape-shifter’s skin began to shiver and ripple, losing definition. “Now be a good little halfa and stay still!”

A silver streak shot forward, shedding Daz’s jacket in the process. Marco dodged out of the way and bid a hasty retreat, not even bothering with an attempt at battle. He knew his limits. He was doomed if he tried to take on that ghost alone, out in the open where the playing field was even. His only chance was to get back to a more populous area, as reckless as it sounded. Hopefully then he could enlist the aid of an officer, or at least stir up a commotion that would drive the specter away once more.

As he reached the edge of the tree line, a red beam burst forth from the leaves, slicing through the air before him. The halfa swerved around it, process halted from the surprise attack. The ghost took his momentary lapse to strike. Marco noticed too late and soon found himself ensnared by a ghostly python. Clearly someone was a fan of snakes.

“Let go of me!” Marco snapped, fighting against the coils that restrained him, which only seemed to draw tighter the more he fought, squeezing the life out of him. The snake only hissed in his ear, dragging him forcibly down to the ground, to whatever had fired at him from the darkness.

Clenching his teeth, the halfa charged the energy in his fists again. “I said, let go!” Grasping for whatever part of the serpent he could reach, he held on tight, his built up energy searing into ghostly scales. It flinched in pain, coils loosening enough for him to slip out.

Again he made a bolt for safety and again a beam shot out from the trees, the angle of trajectory different this time. Had the unknown assailant moved or were there multiple?

This time, he had the forethought to move before the shape-shifter made a pass at him again. But, true to its name, it had changed forms. A long arm swept past, barely grazing Marco as he evaded, but swung around to catch him in its grip, tossing him roughly at the ground. He hit with an audible thud, winded long enough for the ghost to descend upon him, trapping him under the huge claws of an undefined beast reminiscent of their first encounter.

As Marco struggled to extricate himself, the ghost finding great pleasure in his plight and pushing him further into the ground, he caught movement in his peripheral vision. Several figures where moving in on then, encircling. The shape-shifter paid them no mind, so they must’ve been allies. From his angle, pressed into the ground, Marco could only see their feet, clothed by dark brown boots. The very same boots that were standard issue in the Sina laboratories. Marco gritted his teeth, already not liking where this was going.

At an issued command, the ghost released the halfa, who immediately sat up to assess his current situation. There were five people in total, not including the beast that had attacked him, standing in a circular pattern around Marco. Each wore the indicative uniform of a Sina researcher, two of which he’d seen in passing, the others completely unfamiliar faces, and each of them was armed.

These were not the type of weapon typically found at the labs. These were smaller, more reminiscent of the one he’d designed for Jean, but far more menacing.

And every single one of them was trained on Marco.

He froze. Ghosts? He could deal with ghosts. He was used to them. These were people. People who likely worked alongside his parents at some point in their lives. They all stared down at him, faces locked in looks of disdain. His blood ran cold at the thought what they could possibly have planned for him. After all, every other time an anti-ghost weapon was being aimed at him, he had been in the middle of a scuffle that was causing a public disturbance. The circumstances couldn’t have been any farther off.

Marco’s fight or flight response kicked in, settling on the latter. Giving that he was surrounded from all sides, Marco decided his best option for escape would be down. They must’ve anticipated as much, because as soon as he moved a single muscle, a warning shot was fired, catching him square in the calf.

He cried out, falling over to clutch at his injury while staring at the culprit in alarm. Those weapons weren’t just for show and they clearly had no reservations on resorting to them. He remembered getting hit by a stray blast at the mall and the pain that had caused. That was a mere slap compared to whatever weapons these individuals were in possession of. He didn’t even want to know what the wound it left behind looked like.

Curling in on himself, Marco scrutinized his captors. “W-why…” he spoke in a shaky voice, hiss from the pain in his leg. “Why are you doing this?”

No one offered a response. One individual made a come-hither motion and gestured over a sixth person that Marco had not noticed before. Theirs was another face unknown to him. The newcomer held a different kind of weapon; a large, pipe-like gun that he held slung over his shoulder. The man positioned it and Marco found himself staring into the dark barrel, unable to will his body to move.

It fired with a hissing rush of air, ensnaring the halfa in a net that pulsated in a dim green. As he struggled, he could feel his own energy being drained away, unable to break through or faze to freedom. It was suppressing his powers!

He sat there, breathing heavily, his fingers fisting into the material that entrapped him. A million questions ran through his mind. What were they going to do with him? How would he get out this? Would he even be able to? How long before people noticed he was missing?

A shadow fell over him, drawing Marco out of his thoughts. He looked up into the cruel grin of the shape-shifter, still assuming the form of the feral beast. It was the last image he remembered before something struck the back of his head and all turned dark.

* * *

Marco was roused slowly into consciousness, vaguely aware of the throbbing of his head or the stinging burn of his leg. Through his dull, fuzzy senses, he could hear the angry shouts of a woman, though muffled and unclear. A man was yelling as well. The two appeared to be arguing, though about what, he could not decipher the words enough to say.

Marco shook his head, trying to bring the world into focus, and immediately paid for it. Pain shot through his skull like he’d been stabbed. He winced, screwing his eyes shut as he rode out the discomfort. Groggily, he lifted his hands to nurse the offended area, but quickly found himself unable to move his arms.

Everything snapped to attention.

Marco was set in a small, metallic room with no outstanding features outside of a few overhead lights that weren’t even turned on. He was sitting on his knees, his arms shackled behind him and chained to a bolt protruding from the floor. A few test tugs confirmed that it wasn’t budging anytime soon. Fazing out was also out of the question. Whatever technology had sapped him of his powers was still in use in the barren chamber, likely built into the walls themselves. Try as he might, the only manifestation of his powers that he could produce was his involuntary glow, which at least served as a light source.

Outside, the argument persisted. The female, her voice a high soprano, had grown louder and more intense, enough for Marco to recognize. It couldn’t be… Was that _Krista?!_ That at least confirmed his location, though did nothing for his nerves.

The man shouted again, roughly hitting the other side of the wall. The impact echoed throughout Marco’s metal prison and Krista shrieked. It was immediately followed up by the angry shouts of another female, her voice much deeper. That was definitely Ymir. Oh how he wished he could hear what they were discussing. Whatever it was the two girls were _furious_. Marco could only hope it was about his capture.

Their voices died down and soon the door slid open, the lights flickering on as it did. “Goddamn bleeding hearts. I don’t have time for this.”

Much to Marco’s dismay, it was not Krista or Ymir who stepped in, but an older man dressed in the Sina uniform. He looked around the room as the door slid shut behind him, eyes falling to its sole occupant with a sneer.

“You know, there are things I’d rather be doing than playing security guard for some dumb half ghost that’s obviously not going anywhere.” He scratched at his scruffy, graying beard, leveling Marco with an aggravated expression that implied that he took the halfa’s capture as a personal offense.

But Marco could’ve cared less about the way this man was looking at him. He was more concerned with what he had said. He called him a half ghost, but that would mean he knew his secret somehow, and that the people who’d captured him knew as well. Surely the girls hadn’t let it slip.

Unless he was making a crack about his face- Marco wouldn’t put it past him. He recognized the guy- he’d seen him around before when he was helping out his parents. His name began with an R- Rodney possibly. Or maybe Ray, he couldn’t remember. He usually hovered around the other workers, never doing any actual work himself, but complaining like he was. He wasn’t a particularly pleasant individual, which was why Marco had never bothered to remember his name.

And now he was going to be guarding his cell.

“Oi, at least show some decency and _look_ at me when I’m talking to you,” he complained, kicking at an extended foot. Conveniently the injured one (Unfortunately, his accelerated healing fell under the category of ghost powers, which were currently incapacitated. He was going to be stuck with that particular affliction for a while). Marco winced, but did not oblige, turning his head away entirely. He retracted the wounded limb from any further assault, cringing with the movement.

This did not please the man. “You are shaping up to be a huge pain in my ass, Marco.”

His breath hitched in his throat in a way that he hoped hadn’t been noticeable. So his fears had been correct. But how?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Marco muttered, staring a hole into the floor before him.

The man only scoffed. “Don’t play dumb. Marco Bodt, son of Victor and Isabella Bodt, currently employed by our facility.”

“You are clearly mistaken. Haven’t you seen the papers, I’m Trost-pera.” He inwardly shuddered at the use of his hated nickname. It sounded even worse rolling off his own tongue.

“I’m not here for your mind games, boy!” He roared, slamming his foot on the ground. The noise reverberated throughout the room. “Do you realize how much trouble your little stunt with the locket caused us? It was suppose to hold the secrets we've been searching for _years_ , but none of us could get it open. And you, by sheer dumb luck, got it open and managed to dispel all the spectral energy we’d been hoping to harness.”

Marco watched him pace about the room as he ranted. Had that little trinket really been so important? He was under the impression that they had stumbled across it by chance during a scouting mission. Had that all been a ruse?

He shifted his stiff arms, the chains offering nothing but resistance. “If this energy you needed got dispelled, then why capture me?” he grunted, giving up on trying to get comfortable.

“Because that’s what we thought at first. And then all these rumors about a new ghost started cropping up and someone realized there had to be connection. It’s simple thermodynamics; energy cannot be created or destroyed. It just goes _elsewhere_ , and we needed to know where that elsewhere was.”

He folded his arms behind his back. “We started tracking the sightings, following your movements. And imagine our surprise when it turned out the tracks led back to the Bodts’ son, who started this fine mess in the first place. It seems so obvious now.”

Marco jerked his head back up to him, violet eyes flashing as he scowled. “Oh don’t worry, this information’s only privy to a small number of people. Your parents have no idea about your little secret. See, there’s been a classified project going on here for years, looking for a way to harness a ghost’s powers for… professional reasons. I have a suspicion you’ve already met Ymir.” He cast the door a wary glance, as though he expected the mere mention of her name to summon the ghost. “She’s one of our failed experiments.”

“One of?” Marco repeated, the horror of that implication sinking in.

“Yes, and she should’ve been terminated like the rest of those abominations when her usefulness ran out, but the boss’s daughter is fond of her. Keeps her around like some kind of pet. _You_ however…”

The man approached, bending down to stare Marco in the face. He didn’t back down, glaring back with a fierce purple glow.

“You seemed to have managed just what our researchers have been trying to do for decades. They think they can use you to get answers.” He gripped the halfa’s chin in his hand, forcing his head to the side so he could more closely examine the scarred portion of his face.

Marco roughly pulled away, shrinking back towards to wall. “And what makes you think I’ll cooperate?” he snapped.

The man frowned, stretching back up to full height. “Of course you won’t. Test subjects never do. They’ll just study your powers and replicate them somehow.  Maybe get your parents to help once they get back from that errand we sent them on.”

Marco practically growled, shackles digging into his skin as his whole body tensed. “You planned that. You needed them out of the way so my disappearance would go unnoticed.”

He smirked. “Convenient that they work for us, isn’t it? By the time they get back, we’ll be too far into testing for it to matter. I’m sure you have friends out there who might notice, but there’s nothing a bunch of kids can do. And however Krista and her pet ghost are involved, we have ways to keep them from interfering.”

The halfa gritted his teeth. “Why?” he whispered. “Why do you go to such lengths for whatever scheme your planning? How many lives have you destroyed? Is it really that important?”

The man stared at Marco for a long moment. Grunting, he shrugged his jacket closer and shoved his hands into his pockets. “You’re just a kid, I don’t expect you to understand the bigger picture here. Money, power, politics; it’s way over your head. The biggest concern your generation has keeping up to date with the latest technology.”

“You’re right, I don’t understand,” he said slowly. “It all just sounds criminal to me.”

“You say criminal, we say _revolutionary.”_ The man cast him a smirk, making his way for the door. “You’ll see soon enough. You’re going to be a part of something great.”

“You won’t get away with this!” Marco yelled, straining against the shackles that held him to the floor, ignoring how his leg screamed out in protest. “Someone will stop you!”

He paused at the open door, sparing Marco one last glance. “Just watch us.” He shut the lights off as he left and shut the door.Darkness moved in to reclaim the room and its resident, illuminated only by his glowing eyes and skin.

He collapsed heavily, falling to his side with a cry of frustration. It was wrong. Everything was wrong. And there was nothing he could do about it besides sit there and wait for events to progress.

He wondered about the others. How his parents were enjoying their trip to Shinganshina, blissfully unaware. What had happened with Krista and Ymir. Hopefully they hadn’t gotten in too much trouble trying to help him.

His thoughts fell to Jean last. How would he react when Marco wasn’t there to greet him in the morning? Probably freak out, knowing the blond. Cause an uproar that could rouse the whole neighborhood. He’d try to find him, but it’d just be useless. Even if Jean knew where to look, he’d have no hope of breaking into the facility.

The whole thing seemed hopeless, Marco realized as he drew his eyes shut, pulling himself into total darkness.

A single tear rolled down the side of his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo... how about that new OVA?
> 
>  
> 
> In all seriousness, expect some serious shit to go down soon because we are coming up to the end here. I can't say how long the climax is going to take yet, but there's only a few chapters left now.


	11. It's Going Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I'd like to bring attention to this awesome piece of [fanart](http://mcfluffbutt-senpai.tumblr.com/image/94690341073) by mcfluffbuttsenpai for this AU (Look at it, give them notes, it's adorable). Again, thank you so much!
> 
> Also, because it was brought to my attention that I don't have an official tag, if anyone else wants to post something for this, the tag shall be 'fic: halfa' (I've been tagging my stuff as dp!au, but that's not really specific)

Minutes ticked by as Jean impatiently checked the time on his phone for the third time that morning, waiting. It wasn’t like Marco to be tardy like this. He was always an early riser regardless of how little sleep he may have gotten the night before. Old habits were hard to break, he supposed.

He jammed the device back into his pocket, scowling at the stairwell door, which remained firmly shut. Any longer and they would have to run to school. Or take Jean’s scooter, which the halfa certainly wouldn’t agree too.

If he even decided to show up. Tired of the waiting game, Jean left his post at the door and trekked up the flight of stairs to investigate the matter.

“Marco!” he yelled into the apartment after letting himself in via the spare key. His voice echoed loudly off the walls, but there was no response to greet him. He crossed over the threshold, letting the door fall shut behind him. The apartment looked undisturbed, no signs that anyone had been moving about it recently.

 He first checked the most reasonable location, the brunet’s bedroom, poking his head in with another call of his name. The room was in its usual state, but the bed was unmade, sheets thrown about in a tangled heap. Wherever he had gone, he’d done it in a hurry. Had he left to attend to a sudden ghost crisis? No, wait, Marco would’ve come gotten him first had that been the case.

Actually, no, he wouldn’t have, Jean realized with a click of his tongue. Not recently anyways. The damn boy scout was so determined to keep him out of harm’s way lately that, if he felt he could handle a situation on his own, he probably would.

Well this was predicament requiring of a phoned complaint, namely ‘Where the fuck are you?!’ Jean drew out his phone again and pulled Marco up on speed dial. Ghost fighting be damned, he’d better pick up with a good excuse for his absence. The phone rang twice before another sound greeted his ears; a buzzing accompanied by the guitar rift of a familiar song. He slowly turned his head towards the dresser, where a small device lay innocently, gliding slightly to the left with each ring.

He’d left his phone. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Jean sighed and ended the call, leaning up against a wall. This type of behavior was so unlike the older teen. Running off without telling anyone, especially on a school day, and leaving his phone behind?  Those were things Jean was more likely to do- and has in the past.

He gave a silent hope that he’d find Marco waiting for him at school, drawn out by some battle without a reasonable amount of time to make it back home to meet him, otherwise something was terribly wrong in the universe.

Jean barely made it to his first period before the tardy bell rang. He collapsed heavily into his desk after having sprinted for the last leg of the route (He could have taken his scooter, given that he was alone, until he remembered he’d have nowhere to park the damn thing upon arrival and was forced to hoof it instead). Blindly he stared ahead at the board, hardly concerned with the class topic of interest groups and political campaigning. His lateness had made him unable to look for Marco in the hallways and his mind wandered to possible situations that could explain the halfa’s sudden truancy, steadily growing worse as time marched on.

By the end of the period, Jean had worried himself into a state of slight panic, having gone through several worst-case scenarios that ended in Marco no longer being just _half_ ghost. There was still hope though. There was still the chance that he would round the corner that led to Marco’s locker and find the brunet organizing his books cheerily, if not mildly sleep deprived.

He found Sasha and Connie instead.

The two were coming from the direction he was headed when they intercepted him, waving to make sure they didn’t go unnoticed. “Yo, Jean, where’ve you been?” Connie said as he ran up to greet him. “We’ve been wondering all morning.”

Sasha soon joined, leaning on Connie’s shoulder. “Well, _you_ being absent is pretty normal. But there’s been no sign of Marco. Where is he?”

“He’s not here?!” he blurted, despite himself. His stomach sank. If they hadn’t seen Marco either, then something was assuredly wrong.

At the shocked looks that claimed their faces, he realized his blunder. “I-I mean, of COURSE he’s not here. Cause he’s at home. Sick. And… and…”

Jean trailed off, gritting his teeth as he glared at the floor. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t pull off this act. Not when his closest friend was God knows where and he had no way of knowing if he was even okay!

“Jean, you’re shaking!” He looked up, relaxing just enough that his muscles weren’t twitching from tightly he had them locked. “Is everything okay? Did something happen?”

He grinded his teeth a bit more before responding with “I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore. Marco is… he’s…” He screwed his eyes shut, uneager to admit the reality of the situation even for himself. “He’s missing, okay! I haven’t seen him since last night.”

The two shared a startled gasp. “Missing?!”

Jean shoved his hands in his pockets, eyes returning to that patch of floor that had been monopolizing his view earlier. “He was taking forever to meet me this morning so I went and checked his apartment. I found his phone, but no Marco. He just… up and left and I have no idea where he could’ve gone or why or if he’s all right. He could be in serious danger right now and-“

Jean quickly bit his tongue, scuffing the floor under his boot with a frustrated stomp. There was no use trying to explain, they had no idea the potential severity of the situation. “Forget it, you wouldn’t understand.” And he didn’t have the time to try and make them understand either. He needed to figure out what had happened.

The duo looked to each other and nodded curtly before Sasha spoke again. “Jean, it’s okay. We kinda figured out what’s been going on with you two.”

He scowled. “Look, now _really_ isn’t the time for your crazy conspiracies about my non-existent love life.”

“No, not that,” Connie said, his hand moving in a dismissive wave. He leaned in closer to whisper to Jean, making first sure that no one was close enough to overhear them. “We know Marco’s the Trost-pera ghost. We don’t know _how_ , but yeah.”

He gaped at them. That was… not what he had expected. He didn’t know what he had expected, but it sure as hell wasn’t that! Today was just full of surprises. One here, one there, turn around, there’s another one!

He was beginning to hate surprises.

Jean swallowed the dry lump in his throat. “How long have you known?”

“Since last week. We started noticing the connections a while back; how they kinda looked similar, you mentioning that he’d been in a lab accident, him conveniently disappearing that one time at the mall. But it was too crazy to be true, right? Marco was still alive after all, how could he possibly be a ghost? And then the school got attacked, and we saw the way you were watching the fight. It was the same kind of intense look you only get whenever Marco is concerned. That’s when it clicked.”

“I even thought I saw him disappear for a second once, but I blamed it on a trick of the light. Now I know I wasn’t just seeing things,” Connie added.

Jean gave him a bewildered look. “How could you blame that on a trick of the light?” Connie puffed out his cheek and decided not to answer. The blond let out a small puff of air, his arms coming up to fold across his chest. “Well, cat’s out of the bag, I guess.”

“But why was it in the bag to begin with? Why didn’t you guys just tell us?” Sasha demanded, her expression hurt.

“Not my decision. Marco was afraid to; didn’t want to involve anyone else incase things got dangerous. And I’m pretty sure they just have.” Jean sighed, shifting focus to glance at the clock hanging from the wall. They only had a few minutes before the bell indicating second period rang.

He grunted, pulling his bag closer. “I’m going after him.”

“I thought you didn’t know where he was,” Connie stated.

“I don’t, but I have a hunch. Either way I know he’s in trouble, and I’m not just gonna stick around here waiting for who knows what to happen to him.”

“But... what about school?”

“Let’s see, teachers who barely teach. Best friend in peril.” He held up both hands like scales, weighing the two options. “I think best friend takes precedent. I skip all the time, no one’ll miss me.”

They both seemed genuinely conflicted with the moral dilemma Jean was painting. On one hand, skipping school entirely, especially on a hunch of all things, was bound to lead to serious repercussions. On the other hand, none of that really mattered if Marco was really in as much danger as Jean would have them believe.

He turned to leave them, but two hands reached out to grab the back of his jacket, effectively drawing him to a halt. Jean blinked to surprise and looked over his shoulder. The two of them stared back with looks of determination.

“At least take us with you,” Sasha said as they let the blond go, his attention reclaimed. “Let us help.”

Jean gave them a small smile. “Thanks for the offer guys, but you’d better just go to class. You have no idea what kind of mess your getting in to.”

A quick smirk was shared. “Since when has that stopped us before?” Connie declared proudly, hands on his hips.

A hand fell to his shoulder and he locked eyes with Sasha. “Jean, please? He’s our friend too.”

Slowly he panned between the two of them. He could tell that they were hesitant, unsure about exactly what they were signing on to. But their concern for the missing member of the group was far greater than their own uncertainty.

Jean closed his eyes, smiling. He couldn’t have asked for better friends.

Sneaking out of the school was a harder task than they originally thought. Jean, though experienced in the art of playing hooky, never actually ventured off campus during his escapes. He usually just sought refuge in the art studio, the art teacher being rather fond of the punkish boy and employed him to aid with menial tasks during these periods.

They ended up taking a back route to avoid being spotted by whoever was currently managing the front desk, hiding from whatever teachers they encountered along the way. The ongoing construction aided slightly, as the workers themselves couldn’t have cared less about a bunch of teenagers skulking about, and the actual authority figures seemed to be avoiding those hallways.

After their roundabout path to the outside world, Jean split off from the group. He instructed them to pack whatever they thought would be helpful for a heist and he’d give them the place to meet whenever he was ready.

He spent the rest of his own walk back to the apartment thinking over that hunch he’d gotten. The Sina labs had something to do with this, namely that sketchy lower level that the girls had introduced them to. If anyone had the technology to make it possible to catch and detain the halfa, it would be them. Plus it was _too_ convenient that Marco’s parents were sent out of town right before this happened. That shape-shifter too. No way it was sneaking in and out like that unless someone was letting it.

Jean cursed as he nearly dropped his key, having reached the door to his residence. He fumbled with the lock, his built up stress and anxiety making it difficult to function. The door all but slammed open with his entrance- his mother was at work so it hardly mattered- and he nearly forgot to shut it as he made a beeline for his room. He immediately went for the dresser where his one weapon lay hidden, tossing his backpack blindly in the direction of the bed.

“Hey, watch where you throw that!”

Jean screamed- a manly scream in his opinion- and grabbed the first thing immediately available to him, a metal ruler that was sitting a top the dresser. He brandished it and spun to face the intruder head on, who was also screaming at this point.

He stared for a long while, ruler held up like a bat, as he took in the details of the scene in front of him. The young man floating above his bed, body and clothes entirely of the same shade of pale gray; his book bag, held aloft in the air next to his head; and the panicked face that stared back at him, mouth hanging open in a silent wail.

“Daz?!” Jean lowered the ruler and switched his expression to a glare. “What the fuck, how’d you get in here?”

The poltergeist released the bag from his telekinetic hold, letting it drop to the floor noisily. He stared at Jean in disbelief and promptly ignored his question. “I need to tell you something. Your halfa friend, Marco. Something’s happened to him!”

“Yeah, thanks for the warning, I kinda already knew that,” the blond grunted as he pulled out the gun and holster. “But how do _you_ know that?”

“Because your pet deer barged into my home with one of my missing jackets a little while ago!”

Jean’s brows furrowed. “Pet… deer? Buchwald?”

“Sure, whatever!” The poltergeist waved his arms dramatically. “It just showed up out of nowhere and told me that-“

“Wait, wait, wait. You can communicate with him?!”

Daz sighed heavily. “All ghosts can understand each other to an extent and you are missing the point!” he snapped and Jean, for a moment, wondered what had happened the nervous wreck that he normally was. “Look, all I got was something about a form changer, an ambush, and the people in those weird brown uniforms with light guns.”

“I knew it!” Jean exclaimed, unsure if he should be happy or pissed with this fact. “Thanks, Daz. And tell Buchwald thanks too if he’s still around!”

“Hey, I’m not a messenger!” the poltergeist complained, but Jean was already gathering his things together, plan in mind. “Wait, you- uh, J-John!”

The pronunciation was off, but at the sound of his name, Jean paused for a second, leaning his head back in.

Daz gave a sheepish glance and all but whispered “Good luck” to him before disappearing up into the ceiling.

With that small bit of encouragement, Jean made one last stop before he set out, sending out the text to meet him over at the labs as he went up the stairs. While he was at it, he also made a call; a call to their inside contact.

_“We’re sorry, but the number you have dialed is temporarily unavailable.”_ It was a robotic female voice that answered, not Krista, and it promptly cut off to a dial tone. He pulled away, frowning. That certainly wasn’t suspicious at all. Exactly what was going on in those labs?

Well he would have to think about it later, because he was at his destination. Jean entered the empty apartment for the second time that day, but with completely different motives. After all, if he was going to break into the facility, he was going to need some sort of disguise. Marco’s uniform should serve him well enough.

He fished the outfit out of the closet, feeling a bit conflicted with the fact that he was going to be wearing his friend’s clothes. But, it was for the brunet’s sake, so reservations had to be put aside for the time being.

Marco was a bit taller and broader than Jean, so his clothes were slightly too big. The sleeves hung awkwardly past his wrists and the pants bunched up around the tops of the boots. At least the shoes fit well enough. He took a moment to look himself over in mirror. Besides his unruly hair, he looked pretty official. Hopefully it’d be enough to fool them.

Outside the apartment, Jean ducked around the back to retrieve his scooter- Sina laboratories wasn’t exactly close- when he found yet another surprise waiting for him. This one was a little more welcome than the others.

“Buchwald!” The stag regarded him with a low nod, allowing the human boy to approach. “What’re you still doing here?”

Jean wasn’t particularly expecting a reply, but he got one anyway. Buchwald maneuvered so that his side was facing Jean and kneeled down closer to the ground.

“You’re offering me a ride?” the blond asked. The stag nodded again, urging him gently with his antlers. There was a brief moment of hesitation, but Jean clambered up onto the spirit’s back, letting his hands rest on the back of the thick neck. Never gone horseback riding in his life and here he was, on the back of ghost deer of all things! Marco had better appreciate this, if he was even still all right.

No, no, he reminded himself. Marco was _fine._ The halfa had basically cheated death before, there was no need to worry. What he needed to focus on was getting him out of there.

He leaned forward, patting the stag on the side to signal that he was ready. “We need to get to Sina labs, you know where that is, right?” Buchwald pawed at the ground in response and took off, charging through the air like it was solid ground. Jean had to wrap his arms around the stag’s neck to avoid falling off. Now he knew how Marco felt whenever he complained about his driving.

And Buchwald was even faster than he could have driven his scooter. Running through the sky cut out almost all obstacles and, though Jean kept his head down for the majority of it, he could tell they were making much better time from the speed at which the wind was whipping through his hair.

Buchwald touched down on the hilltop with a heavy thunder of hooves, bucking a bit to alert his passenger. Jean detached from the ghost’s neck and swung to the ground, his legs shaking unsteadily. There was an experience he was in no hurry to repeat.

Sasha and Connie arrived several minutes later, Connie sitting haphazardly on the handlebars of her rusty of old bike.  They might’ve lived a bit closer to the labs than Jean did, but how they’d managed the entire trek in that alignment was a mystery.

“Hey Jean, sorry for the wa- what is that?!” Sasha pivoted at Connie’s outburst, her view clearly blocked, and nearly sent the two of them toppling over. She managed to draw the bike to a halt before balance was lost entirely and the two dismounted, staring in awe at the ghostly creature that shared their space.

“Guys, this is Buchwald.” The stag, who had been lingering just behind Jean, grazing, but not really grazing, looked up with mild interest.

“Isn’t that the same ghost from the mall?”

Jean waved his hand dismissively. “I’ll explain later. We have more important things at hand.”

They both nodded and everyone gathered around in a small circle. “So what’s the plan, chief?” Sasha asked.

“We need to get inside somehow. I borrowed Marco’s uniform so I can blend in, and I could probably sneak you guys in once I’m situated, but if they start asking questions I’m screwed.”

Two pairs of eyes scanned the area, searching for a possible solution. Connie’s fell to the huge ectoplasmic mass in the shape of a deer. “What about your friend?”

Jean pivoted to look at Buchwald, the stag paying little attention to the three humans, but still remaining nearby. “I wouldn’t risk it. If they’ve got something to keep ghosts in, it’s gonna keep them out too. He’d just make us a giant target.”

They fell silent again, but the gears were turning in Sasha’s head. “Maybe that’s exactly what we need.”

The boys stared at her blankly and Sasha sighed and pushed to her feet, walking over to her parked bike and the large case strapped to the back of the seat. She dragged it over, opening it to reveal a collapsible bow and several arrows.

“What the hell, Sasha, you brought your archery stuff?” Jean exclaimed as the girl began unpacking her bow and setting it up.

“You said pack for a heist.” She rolled her eyes at the rather concerned expression Jean had adopted. “Oh relax, they’re padded arrows.” To demonstrate she pulled one out, showcasing the rounded, egg-like tip that replaced the typical barb. “Won’t kill ya, but it’ll definitely hurt.” She spun the arrow around in her fingers before returning it to the case.

“And I brought rope!” Connie suddenly declared, his own bag now slung off his back as he produced a bundle of ropes. “Plus there’s snacks- her idea, not mine- a few old sheets, and some other crap shoved in here.”

“Great. How does _any_ of this help us if you just wanna make a huge scene? How’s making a scene in the first place going to help?” the blond griped, folding his arms.

“Because if we cause a scene, you can slip in. You’ve got the uniform, so if we can make a big enough disruption-“

“-then they’ll be so busy that they’ll just assume I’m one of them!” he finished off, beaming. He could’ve hugged her! In fact, he did. “Sasha, you’re a genius!”

“I try,” she said smugly.

Connie suddenly raised his hand as if he were in class. “I have one question.” He pointed behind the blond. “You think Bucky-“

“Buchwald.”

“Yeah that. Think he’ll let me ride him?”

Jean spared the ghost another glance. At the mention of his name, attention was on the teenagers again, the flicking of an ear the only reaction given.  Jean shrugged. “Maybe.”

The shorter teen squealed in delight, bouncing over to the large animal. They shared a long, silent exchange before Buchwald begrudgingly lowered himself and allowed Connie to climb up, practically vibrating with excitement.

“We’ll stay here and draw their attention. You go rescue your prince.” Sasha gave him a sly wink.

Jean cheeks burned. “He’s not-“ He cut himself off, leveling Sasha with a serious stare. “Be careful you two.”

“When aren’t we?” She grinned, arming her weapon. “Now go.”

Jean nodded and broke away, sprinting down the large hill. As he reached the perimeter wall, Sasha let the first of her arrows fly. It soared over his head and connected with an upstairs window, effectively shattering it on impact. As he edged himself to the break in the wall at the front of the facility, three more windows had fallen victim to Sasha’s onslaught. Already he could hear confused voices gathering on the other side, trying to determine the source of the issue. It was going to take a lot more than that to draw them into a panic.

Connie provided just that. With a war cry he rode onto the scene a top Buchwald, one of his sheets tied around his shoulders and drawn up like a hood and cape. They galloped through the air, running circles round the front of the building until everyone’s attention was gathered.

When the first few officials ran past him, Jean made his move.

He snuck around the corner, thankfully finding no one waiting for him on the other side. Jean quickly hightailed it for the door, nearly being hit in the face with it as someone else exited at that exact moment, presumably to aid the current crisis. They shouted a brief apology over their shoulder, but didn’t spare a second longer on Jean. Perfect, they were too busy to notice anything besides the uniform.

Slipping through the front door, Jean immediately sought refuge in the first empty room he could find and let out a huge breath of air. So far, so good. The hallways were thankfully empty, but he wasn’t going to stand out in the open incase that fact changed.

He needed to get to the elevator and down to the basement. If they were holding Marco anywhere, it’d be down there: nice and secluded, and known by few. His current issue was that those floors required a special code, which he did not know, and he couldn’t contact Krista for that information.

Two options presented themselves. One; he could guess. He remembered that Krista had pressed four keys. The elevator only had so many buttons, eventually he would stumble across the correct sequence. Two; He could wait for someone else to enter that was hopefully headed down below. While easier, it was risky. Too many opportunities for him to be recognized as an outsider or asked questions that he did not know the proper answers for.

As he debated with himself, he felt a sudden pressure around his ankle. Jean jumped and looked down just briefly enough to catch glimpse of a hand before he was roughly dragged down through the floor. He felt himself passing through several walls before he was released and tossed roughly down onto what felt like cushions.

“The HELL do you think you’re doing?!”

“Ymir!” Jean exclaimed in relief, recognizing the angry woman. He had been brought into her homely little room on the first basement level, now seated on the sofa. Looks like his problem solved itself. “How’d you even know I was here?”

“We saw you on the security feed, dumbass.” She pointed behind her to a large computer monitor, screen displaying several windows that each depicted a different portion of the facility. Krista sat before it, waving pleasantly, and announced proudly how she had ‘hacked the system’.

Damn, and he thought he’d been stealthy about the whole thing.

“And _you’re_ lucky that she did. Do you realize what kind of shit you’re getting yourself into?”

Jean scowled, getting up and walking over. He did not have time to deal with her patronizing. “No, but do _you_ release that those fuckers that you live with have Marco locked up here somewhere?”

“Uh, duh. Why do you think we hacked the security cams?” She gestured over to her blonde haired companion, who maximized one of the smaller feeds to overlay the others. It portrayed a small room, empty except for a lone figure sitting towards the back, his arms chained to the floor behind him. His dull glow lit up the dark room.

“Marco!” Jean nearly flew to the monitor, staring at his missing friend. The halfa seemed okay, perhaps sitting a bit awkwardly, but there was little he could make out with Marco’s head bowed down, tucked in on himself.

”He’s on the floor below, but since they won’t let either of us anywhere near him we’ve been monitoring from here,” Krista explained. “Apparently they were controlling that shape-shifter somehow and used it to lure him into an ambush so they could bring him here. There’s a ghost suppression field on the room that keeps him contained, but it also means Ymir can’t do a thing if she gets too close.”

“What about you? Don’t you have some kind of authority as the mayor’s daughter?”

She shook her head sadly. “Not with this. I tried and got into a huge argument with the people in charge about how wrong this was. Now they’re limiting my movements because they’re afraid I’ll find a way to interfere with their plans again. They even cut off our communication to the outside world to make extra sure.”

Jean gritted his teeth in realization. _That’s_ why his attempt at contacting her had fallen through.

Ymir shoved her hands into her pockets, leaning back against a wall beside Krista. “They haven’t done anything serious to him, but that probably won’t last much longer.”

Jean’s fists clenched in anger. “Damn it. God damn it! Why him? He hasn’t hurt anyone!”

“These secret experiments with ghosts have been going on for years, kid- probably before you were even born. They found out, somehow, that Marco wasn’t a true ghost and they’re hoping he can give them the answers they seek.”

“Answers? Answers to what?”

She sighed, taking a second to run a hand through her bangs. “To put it simply; they want to be like Marco. They want the ability to use a ghost’s powers for stupid shit like embezzling money, or swaying politics in their favor. The original experiments were given up a long time ago, but, now that they have Marco, they’re going to revive that scheme.”

He regarded Ymir for a moment, looking her over. “Is that what you are then? One of the experiments?”

She didn’t answer right away, suddenly finding one of the posters on the adjacent wall offensive and directing her disapproving stare towards it. Krista reached out and took Ymir’s hand in her own. “Go on, tell him the truth,” she urged, giving a squeeze. Ymir gave her an almost pleading look, but Krista only urged her once more and returned to surveillance work, their hands remaining entwined.

She turned back to Jean with a heavy sigh, her face conveying how much she really didn’t want to have a heart to heart with him (The feeling was mutual), but Krista’s word was law and she began to speak.

“I was brought here nearly ten years ago, probably around the same age you and Violet are now.” She saw the look on Jean’s face and how he moved to make a comment, but she cut him off. Story now, questions later. “I was a runaway, homeless, no family. No one would notice if I suddenly went missing, so they swept me off the street one day and whisked me away to this horrid lab.

“It was okay at first; they gave me food and shelter and all I had to do was a few physical tests a day, take a few shots, and not ask too many questions. Which was fine by me, I never cared too much for all that sciency shit. All this went on for probably a year or two and it was a decent life, better than the streets anyway. Until one day they were done with tests. Told me that I was ready for the real experiment.”

Ymir gritted her teeth, fists clenched so tightly that the nails on her free hand were digging into her palm. Krista made a slight face of discomfort at her own hand being squeezed, but she whispered something softly that seemed to quell the tension in the ghost girl, though Jean did see her eyes flash yellow briefly before she calmed down.

She took in a deep breath and exhaled before she continued. “It was horrible. They had been collecting energy from the ghosts they had captured over the years and tried to infuse me with it. All the physical training and injections were so my body would withstand the process, but it wasn’t enough. I didn’t just die, I _became_ a ghost. I can make myself seem human because that’s what all that ghostly energy did to my body. I’m a ghost with a human form, not a true halfa like Marco.”

She exhaled heavily out of her nose, falling back to lean her weight against the wall. “As you can imagine, that didn’t go over well with the scientists. You know, basically _murdering_ someone and all. They wanted to destroy me and get rid of the evidence, but Krista stepped in. She was just a little squirt back then, but we’d grown close from all the times her dad would drop her off at the labs while he was on business elsewhere. She was the only person who didn’t treat me like a test subject. The closest thing I had to a friend.”

Krista had gone back to monitoring the feed in Marco’s room, making sure the conditions remained consistent, but a fond, distant (if not somewhat sad) smile had fallen to her lips.

“She begged them to let me stay and since no one wanted to upset the check-signer’s daughter, I wasn’t terminated. Unfortunately, I can’t leave the grounds. I died here so my soul’s attached to the damn place. Have to hang around and watch what goes on.

“They gave up experimenting with humans after that and focused solely ghosts, I was the first and last human test subject. But a lot of people left anyway. Couldn’t handle the guilt- seeing me everyday probably didn’t help. A few members of the original team are still here and I’ll bet you anything they’re the one’s behind this. They saw a chance to revive the old dream and seized it.”

Jean stood silent for a while, letting his brain process all of the new information. It explained so many of the questions he’d had, and he felt kind of bad for mistrusting Ymir after hearing everything she’d gone through, but at the same time that sinking feeling in his stomach only got worse. “Is that what they’re gonna do to him? The same they did to you?” he questioned.

Ymir frowned, shaking her head. “They were trying to turn me into what Marco is. My guess, they have something far worse in store. Probably dissect him or something. That’s the best way to find out how something ticks.”

His blood ran cold at her words. There was no doubt in his mind, after hearing Ymir’s tale, that that was a completely plausible possibility. And it scared him. Marco already had his near-death experience and he’d escaped that and even brought a little bit of death back with him. That should have been it, right? He avoided death once, bridged the gap, and now he was off the hit list until old age got him.

“No. No.” Jean was running his hands through his hair, tugging roughly at the roots. “We have to save him. We _have_ to.” Jean didn’t want to imagine losing his best friend. The one person who always had his back. He couldn’t. He refused to!

“Um, guys. You might want to see this.”

Krista’s soft voice broke through, gesturing them over. The lights were now on and Marco had lifted his head for the first time since Jean had arrived. He could make out the traces of a black eye and busted lip- the fact that his injuries held a faint glow aided in this fact (A cut received during one patrol revealed that, in ghost form, Marco bled purple ectoplasm).

The reason he had suddenly decided to raise his head was that Marco wasn’t alone in his cell anymore; and by the nearly _venomous_ look he was giving the interloper, he was certainly not pleased with this fact. Jean didn’t think Marco could even pull such a look and made a mental note to _never_ piss the halfa off when they got out of this.

_If_ they got out of this.

“Great, Ralph’s back again,” Ymir said, the name rolling off her tongue in disgust. “He was part of the original team,” she explained, watching as the stranger, Ralph, began to speak. He didn’t think it possible, but Marco somehow managed to glare more at whatever he said. Pressing a key on the keyboard, Krista brought the feed off mute and listened in to the conversation.

_“-such a hassle, but they’ll be ready for you soon. Good too, because I’m tired of having to keep an eye on you.”_

_“Glad we’re on the same page, because I’m tired of having to listen to your complaints all day.”_ Marco sounded pleasant enough, if not a little hoarse, but there was a sharp undertone to his words that suggested he wanted to do a lot more than those shackles would allow.

Ralph seemed displeased with his response, because he roughly grabbed Marco by the front of his shirt, pulling the chains as taut as possible as he brought the halfa eye-level with himself. Marco did not drop the glare, even with the older man grinding his teeth in his face, so Ralph shoved him back to the ground. There was an audible CRACK as the back of Marco’s head collided with the wall, leaving him stunned by pain for a brief moment. Ralph left without another word, plunging Marco in darkness once more to recover on his own.

Jean nearly roared into action at the scene and Ymir had to hold him back and remind him that leaping into the screen would accomplish nothing aside from getting him cut by glass and losing their only way of monitoring the situation. He relented his attack, but not his anger.

“Bastard. That fucking bastard! Has it been like this the entire time?” Jean snarled. The two girls looked to one another and chose not to answer, but their silence was all the conformation he needed. “That’s it. Which room is it, I’m getting him out now.”

“Jean, wait! We need a plan, you can’t just march down there,” Krista squeaked. “They’ll toss you out in a heartbeat or arrest you for trespassing.”

“But you heard him, they’ll be coming for him any moment now!” Jean insisted, though knowing full that Krista was right. Without them, he had no idea where his ghostly friend was being kept, and both had very valid reasons for why they couldn’t go. He gritted his teeth in frustration, knuckles turning white from how tightly his fists were clenched. Damn it all, at this rate Marco will-

_“I messed up.”_

Jean snapped to attention at a soft voice that hadn’t come from anyone in the room. He was back at Krista’s side, all attention on the security feed.

_“I let myself get caught and now… this is probably it. And no one will know what happened to me.”_ Marco let out a dry, humorless laugh. _“I should’ve told them. My parents. Connie. Sasha. They deserved to know what was going on, but I was too afraid to let anyone else in. To get them tangled up in this mess like I did with Jean.”_

“Marco…” he whispered, reaching out towards the screen. It hurt, listening to him like this. He wanted to call out to Marco, to remind him that he had willingly gotten himself involved. And that he would do it thousand times over if he had to.

_“Jean… he- he’ll probably have to explain all this to my parents. How their idiot son half killed himself that day and somehow must’ve finished the job.”_ His voice was breaking with silent sobs and Jean decided he couldn’t take it anymore. Reaching across the keyboard, he hit the mute button, cutting off the soliloquy. The two watched him with concern.

“There has to be a way.” His tone was desperate, fading into a whisper. “We have to save him. We just have to.”

Krista gave him a sympathetic look. “I know Jean, but there’s just no way that we-“ she paused, standing up suddenly. Ymir looked to her in alarm. “ _We_ can’t do anything, but that doesn’t mean you can’t, Jean.”

He gave her a blank look. “I’m not following.”

“The guards won’t let me past, but they’re so busy that they probably wouldn’t give you a second glance in that uniform- I’m assuming that’s the same way you got in. And Ymir can show you the way. She can’t use her powers past a certain point so they’ll leave her be, and nobody will question you if you’re with her.”

“Krista, have I ever told you how amazing you are?” the taller woman announced, bending down to wrap an affectionate arm around her shoulders. “I can escort Jeanny-boy here, tell him what he needs to do, and he can take care of the rest.”

The blonde nodded enthusiastically. “And I’ll stay here and keep watch with the security cameras and give you a heads up if I spot potential trouble. There should be some com-links upstairs that Ymir can grab. I’ll use that to keep in touch with you two.”

Both girls now turned to him and he felt a new wave of hope wash over him. They had a plan. They could actually do this!

He grinned widely. “Alright! Let’s go rescue a halfa.”


	12. Guardian Angel

Marco stared dully ahead as the lights flickered on once more, signaling Ralph’s return. The man had already been in and out far more times than Marco could be bothered to keep track of- mostly to vent at and belittle the halfa for exhausting all of his precious time with guard detail. Sometimes he reinforced the banter with physical violence if he didn’t like the sarcastic tone Marco had adopted when speaking to him. The halfa didn’t need see himself to know he had _at least_ a black eye.

This time, the man entered looking in a far better mood than Marco had ever seen him in before, including on the days spent helping his parents. His last visit had been accompanied by the news that they were almost done with the preparations for whatever heinous experiment he was to be apart of. Marco could only assume his mood was related to that.

Ralph sauntered over to the chained boy, smugly standing over him. “Well, they’re coming for you now, you damned specter, so I’ll finally be rid of you. Got any parting words before they come to cart you off?”

Marco smiled, though it was clearly forced. “Actually yes. I’d like to say a few words inspired by a very good friend of mine.”

Marco inclined his head, the slight grin immediately dropping from his face. His eyes glowed with such intensity that the purple took on a slightly reddish hue, bathing his features in that light. He grimaced and opened his mouth to utter a single phrase.

“ **Fuck you**.”

The man snarled, pulling back a fist to strike Marco for his tongue and he braced for the inevitable.

The door thankfully chose that moment to slide open, distracting both males and sparing Marco from what would have likely been a bloody nose.

He scoffed, pulling his hand away. “They’re here early, so I guess you’re off the hook. Be careful guys, he’s a feisty one.”

No one responded. The door remained open, but no one entered. Confused, Ralph stepped towards the door himself to investigate. As he moved to call out, a hand appeared in the doorway, grabbing him and shoving him out into the corridor as another man in uniform stepped in to take his place, shutting the door behind him.

Marco’s eyes widened when his gaze fell to a shock of ash blond hair, darker and cut close to the scalp in the back. He turned around, revealing his face, and Marco couldn’t have smiled any wider. “Jean!”

The teen flashed him a grin. “Hey, Freckles. Ya miss me?”

“You have _no_ idea,” he replied, unable to contain his joy at the familiar presence. “But, how did you know I was here? And how’d you get in, this place has security everywhere.”

“Well it’s a good thing we’re on good terms with the boss’s daughter, isn’t it?” he commented, approaching the captive halfa to get to work on his shackles.

“Krista’s alright?” he exclaimed. “What about Ymir? Are they with you?”

There was a thud on the other side of the door as something was roughly thrown against it.

“Just Ymir. Krista’s keeping an eye on the security cameras.” Jean corrected, grunting as he made no headway in freeing his friend. “Fuck this,” he grumbled, pulling his gun from under his jacket. He took careful aim at one of the hinges, adjusted his settings, and fired off a test shot. The blast was absorbed into the metal and shot off blue sparks before the shackles popped open. He let out a silent cheer and pulled them away as Marco shook out his sore joints.

“There we go, that’s much better,” Jean commented, putting away his gun just as the newly freed halfa lunged at him, wrapping his arms around the younger teen in a tight hug.

“Thank you…” he whispered, nuzzling into Jean’s neck. “I was so scared I wasn’t going to get out of this.”

Jean smiled, returning the hug. “Hey, when have I ever let you down? Now let’s get out of here before they catch on.” Jean got to his feet, holding out a hand in offering to Marco. He took it, but, as he applied his weight to his inured leg, he stumbled and lost balance. The blond was thankfully there to stabilize him. “Whoa, you okay?”

“Y-yeah,” the halfa grunted, shifting pressure to the good side. “My leg got hurt pretty bad when they captured me. I don’t know if I can walk on it.”

Jean nodded in quiet understanding, shifting their positions so he could serve as Marco’s living crutch. He muttered an apology for the inconvenience that Jean could only manage to roll his eyes at. Some things just didn’t require apologies; being temporarily handicapped by crazy scientists was one of them.

Ralph lied unconscious just outside the door when the two emerged, Ymir impatiently poking at him with the toe of her boot. She took her hand off the com-link in her ear when they showed up. “About time. Nice shiner, by the way.” Marco flinched at the blunt statement. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what his face looked like right now. “We need to hurry it up, Krista says somebody’s headed our way.”

She paused for a brief moment, grabbing the unconscious man and tossing him into the now empty room, just so their escape wasn’t immediately obvious. “This way,” she grunted, leading them down a different corridor, assumedly under Krista’s instruction. The boys hobbled after her at a slower pace, doing their best to keep up.

Ymir paused at the end of the hall, holding out her arm to signal a halt in their progress. She was listening to the feed from the com-link and muttered something under her breath. An alarm suddenly began blaring over the speakers, startling them. Looks like the research team had discovered Ralph.

Ymir faced them abruptly. “Marco, can you use your powers?”

The brunet blinked at the sudden question and shook his head. “They’re coming back, but I still feel pretty drained from being in that room for so long.”

“I thought so,” she murmured, clicking her tongue. “I’m gonna have to faze you guys up and out then. Hold on.” Ymir offered a hand and Jean grabbed it. It required a bit of effort, having to account for two passengers, but Ymir extended the range of her intangibility to the two boys and dragged them upwards to the first basement level, where Krista was stationed.

They were almost floating up to the main floor when their attention was diverted by several shouts. The female ghost released them and only had a split second to react as a net came whizzing towards her. She pivoted her body, grabbing the net as it went past and used the momentum to hurl it back towards the scientists that had launched the attack.

“Shit, they found us.” As she spoke, her human guise melted away. Ymir quickly brought up a force field, blocking off the entirety of the hallway. Blasts ricocheted off the other side, but they would certainly break through if they kept at it. “There’s a stairwell around the corner that has a hidden entrance upstairs. Take it and get out of here. I’ll hold them off!”

Jean was steadily pulling Marco back up to his feet after their rocky landing, both of them watching with concern as all her focus went into maintaining that shield. “Go!” she hollered over her shoulder, noticing their hesitation.

They took her instruction the second time, running away from the scene as fast as their current situation would allow them. Sight of Ymir was lost around the corner, but they could still hear her taunting shouts over the alarm.

The door to the stairwell was found easily enough and Jean thrust it open, staring up at the spiraling upward path of steps. No way they were getting up that easily in their current state.

Marco seemed to be thinking the exact same thing. “I think I can force myself to levitate.”

Jean gave him a bewildered look. “But you just got out of that repressor field thing!”

“I know, but you can’t carry me up those stairs and we don’t really have the time to argue about it either.” The brunet pulled away from him, drawing his focus onto one of the powers that usually just came naturally to him. His feet were about an inch off the ground when Jean decided that was good enough and grabbed him by the forearm, towing the halfa behind him as he sprinted up the flight of stairs.

They barreled out of the concealed door at the top into one of the private offices on the ground floor. The alarm had ceased, making it easy to hear the scurrying of feet down the hallway that told that their pursuers had already moved on to the upper level. Hopefully the girls were all right. The two ducked out into the hall, but were forced to retreat deeper into the labs when the heard the echo of voices nearby. Marco led the way, having far better knowledge of the layout of the labs. His strength was slowly returning to him, now far away from that accursed room, but he was still not in any state to fight. They couldn’t risk a confrontation just yet.

The game of cat and mouse persisted until the two boys found themselves backed into a corner, or rather, an empty common room at the end of a hallway. They were sitting on the floor so Marco could conserve his energy by not having to float. Voices from the other side of the wall confirmed that fazing through was not a viable option and going down would be suicide. The echoes of frantic voices only served as a countdown to the inevitable as they listened to their proximity to the hiding place.

Marco sighed in resignation and placed a hand on Jean’s knee to draw his attention. “When they get here, I want you to run. I’ll distract them.”

“What? Are you fucking insane, it should be the other way around. They’re after _you,_ not me!” The blond was appalled, yelling in a hoarse whisper. What was he thinking?

“Exactly. So if they’re too focused on me, maybe they’ll let you sneak past. I’ll be content if at least one of us gets out of this.”

“And that someone has to be me?” Jean nearly growled, struggling to keep his voice low. “Why does that have to be your solution? Why do you insist on being the hero even when your own life’s at stake?!”

Marco was unimpressed with the counter argument. “The person who broke into the high-tech research lab is seriously lecturing me about being a hero?”

Jean spun around in front of him with a cool glare. “Yes, I am. Because, you know what? What I did was stupid and reckless. What _you’re_ suggesting is stupid and self-sacrificial and I won’t let you go through with it!”

“Well what other way is there?” His violet glow was wavering between two different intensities as emotions flared. “Out of the two of us, you might actually have a chance of escape, so why won’t you take it?”

“I don’t know, why are you so goddamn determined to give yourself up like that?!”

“Because I don’t want anything else to happen to you!” Marco suddenly snapped, surprised by his own volume. Someone was bound to have heard that, but he didn’t care. “They told me what they did to Ymir. Who’s to say that, once they’re done with me, you won’t be their next test subject?”

Jean’s frustration was momentarily quelled and all he could do was stare for a second. “Marco…”

The brunet shook his head, tears building in the corners of his eyes. “I can’t let something horrible happen to you because of me. Not this time.”

Jean grabbed the front of Marco’s jacket, roughly puling him forward. Gold eyes stared into mismatched purple, wet with tears and widened in surprise by the sudden action. They were close. Close enough that the tips of their noses just barely touched and Jean could see the all of freckles being swallowed up by a literally glowing blush.

He closed the gap.

Marco’s lips were cold against his, deathly cold, and the kiss was brief, driven more by desperation than passion. It was a confession, a declaration, a promise that, no matter what, he was not going to let any of those fears come true. And when Jean pulled away, leaving a dazed Marco before him, he made sure that he knew exactly that.

“We’re getting out of this.” He reached down and claimed his hands in his own, entwining their fingers. “Together.”

Tears were threatening to spill now. Marco couldn’t find any words to say and settled for squeezing the hand that held his.

The entryway was filled with shouts as their hiding spot was finally breached, a wall of people, all armed and ready, blocking off the only immediate escape route. “Don’t move or we’ll open fire!” one of them shouted. Marco tensed. This was it, now or never. He shakily drew himself up, weight distributed onto a single leg. The officials scrambled to action at the movement, weapons poised. Jean quickly stood too, joining Marco at his side. If they were going out, they were going to go out standing.

“You have until the count of three to give in peacefully before we take action. One.”

The teenagers stood firm, unwavering in their resolve.

“Two.”

Marco gritted his teeth, summoning as much of his aura as he could in his weakened state.

“Three.”

Jean’s hand found his again.

“Fire!”

The boys ducked towards each other as guns went off, glancing off the wall behind him. Marco wasn’t quite sure if he was guarding Jean or if Jean was guarding him, but they were huddled together, eyes screwed shut waiting for the incoming onslaught. When they realized nothing was actually hitting them, eyes slowly opened to search for the cause.

The view was slightly obscured by a translucent _thing,_ falling over them like a shadow. At first glance, that would appear to be what was shielding them, but closer inspection revealed the true culprit. A torrent ofwind was rapidly swirling around their bodies, forming a protective bubble. On the other end, the officials were struggling against the flurry, arms raised to shield their faces from the violent windstorm.

“How…” Jean breathed, expression of total awe on his face.

Marco was silent, his glow brighter than it’s ever been. Quite frankly, he didn’t know how, nor was he about to question it. His body was on autopilot and he was willing to except the sudden existence of this power if it meant they had a fighting chance at escape. He straightened his posture, dismissing the sphere of wind. Their antagonists were swept off their feet, but not yet discounted as a threat. The translucent umbrella opened up as Marco moved, revealing what exactly had been covering them.

They were wings. Two, transparent, ethereal wings, one black and one white to mirror the ones on his emblem. They danced like flames from his back, barely attached yet still somehow a part of him.

“Come on!” He grabbed Jean, still in shock, by the wrist and dashed past while everyone was still recovering from the blast. It felt like they were running on air (Marco literally was, as he still could not make use of his injured leg), their escape expedited by a tail wind of Marco’s own conjuring.

Red charges flew past their heads, signaling that their pursuers had regained their bearings. Jean pulled out his own gun and fired a few warning shots behind them as he allowed Marco to continue leading. The halfa kept sprinting forward, undeterred by the fire they were under, focused on the wall at the end the corridor. If he was judging this right…

He pulled them through the wall, the sudden loss of their boosting gust causing a less then graceful exit to the outside world. Sighs of relief were exhaled and the boys looked up from the grass to the sky, the perimeter wall.

The line of armed men waiting with weapons poised.

Of course they had backup outside.

The two teens pressed themselves against the wall. They were so close they couldn’t just give up now! Jean looked around for their own backup, but none of them were in sight.

Marco moved forward, putting himself between Jean and the weapons. Wings stretched out to their full span, shielding him. “Stay behind me.”

“What! No, you can’t-“

“Jean,” he said softly. The halfa tilted his head back and gave a wink. “Just trust me.”

He turned back, replacing his smile with a look of determination. His wings fluttered for a moment then flapped with an impressive amount of force behind the motion. The resulting gust could have belonged to a small tornado- even Jean could feel it and he was out of the area of effect. Guns were ripped from grasps, launched out of reach, and people thrown forcefully from their feet and shoved off to the side, leaving a clear path for them to escape.

“Marco you did it!” Jean announced, clapping the halfa on the shoulder. He tossed a weak smile back at him before collapsing to the ground, his wings dematerializing. He’d used too much of what little energy he’d regained for that move. “Marco!” Jean reached out to catch him, supporting the halfa in his arms.

He stared up at the worried face above him, vision going increasingly out of focus. Jean was shouting something, he could see his mouth moving, but the words were coming out garbled, as though the brunet was submerged in water.

Marco lifted a hand to reach out to Jean and quell his worries. To let him know he was okay. His lips parted, the soft ‘J’ of his name passing through them before he faded out entirely.

* * *

Marco knew his surroundings had changed when he found himself slipping out of the dark abyss of his subconscious mind and back into the light. He was somewhere warm and soft and, most importantly, safe. He felt safe. He was lying on his side, hands grasping at the fabric beneath him as he began to stir. His body was sore, but the dull ache suggested an overtaxing of muscles rather than physical injury.

The halfa groaned quietly, forcing his eyes open. The light stung at first and he shielded his face with his fore arm while he adjusted. Muddled colors swarmed his vision and Marco squinted to bring them into focus, his mind still hazy.

Akin to the last sight he had seen before falling unconscious, a face was hovering over him. Two faces in fact, but neither held the sharp features he knew Jean for. One was round, framed by long, dark hair, the other longer and dotted with freckles not unlike his own.

He groaned, trying to form a cognitive thought through his bleary senses. He knew those faces… “Mom… Dad…” Marco’s eyes flew the rest of the way open. “Mom! Dad! You- owowow…” He shot up in bed and immediately paid for it, pain shooting through his skull. The rest of his body may have recovered, but it looked like the head trauma was taking a bit longer to heal.

“Shh… relax. You’re okay now.” His mother gently pushed down on his shoulders, forcing his head back to the pillow.

Marco stared up at the ceiling. He was back home, in his own room, in his own bed, with no recollection of how he’d gotten there from the facility and his worried parents watching over him. It was like déjà vu to the day he’d gotten his powers.

He tilted his head to look at them, brows furrowed in concern. “You were supposed to be out of town,” he managed weakly. “How-how long have I…”

“It’s only Saturday,” Isabella told him, hushing him gently with a raise of her hand. “We called to check in on you a few times yesterday and when you didn’t answer, we got worried and came home early.”

The brunet hummed under his breath. He felt a little guilty, honestly, even though the circumstances had been far out of his hands. They’d been seriously invested in that assignment, at its core part of a ploy to capture the halfa, but with enough reality behind it to potentially keep them there for the duration of the experiment. And they’d been forced to leave early to make sure their son wasn’t dead, potentially missing out on most of the experience.

“What about that person you were meeting? That important research?” he asked.

“Dr. Jaeger apparently has two kids of his own,” said Victor. He gave his son a soft smile. “He completely understood. Even gave us some of his notes to bring back.”

Marco swallowed the dry lump in his throat. It was mildly reassuring, but he still felt guilty, and not just about that. He felt guilty for causing them so much worry, especially over something that they had no idea he was even involved with. Who knows what kind of disasters their minds had invented during the long drive home.

And worse, he felt guilty _because_ they had no clue, for not sharing his secret when he could have potentially lost that opportunity forever.

He sat himself up again, slowly this time. His hands fisted into the blankets pooled in his lap and he stared at them rather than his parents. “How much do you know?”

“Not much,” his father admitted, looking slightly more stricken than before. “Jean was here when we came back and told us everything was all right, but that we should hear exactly what happened from you.”

Marco nodded, a grateful thought spared for his friend. He wanted, no, _needed,_ them to hear it from him, not an outside source. “I will… but can you give me some time first? I don’t how to even start.”

They nodded in understanding. Marco could tell how much they wanted to know, but neither was willing to push him for the details. Not after whatever he’d been through.

“Of course sweetie. Just remember that you don’t have to be afraid to tell us anything. We won’t love you any less.” His mother moved to plant a light kiss on the top of his head. “We’ll go tell your friend you’re up. I’m sure he’d like to see for himself that you’re fine.”

He blinked. “Jean’s still here?”

Isabella nodded. “He’s been here the entire time, I’m pretty sure. When we came back, he had pulled that chair up to your bed and was sleeping in it.” She spared a glance to the chair and the desk it was under, where he had several photos of the two, and occasionally four, of them taped to the wall behind. “That boy cares about you a lot.”

His mind flashed back to yesterday, when his lips had been on his and their fingers entwined like they belonged there. Marco smiled softly, a faint blush rising to his cheeks. “He does, doesn’t he…”

They left his bedside, but, at the doorway, Victor stopped, placing a hand on his wife’s shoulder to draw her attention. Marco watched them curiously from the bed.

“You know, ‘Bella, didn’t we promise our son something when we got back?”

She paused, giving him a questioning look. Then her eyes lit up. “You know what. I do believe we did, amore.”

They both turned to him expectantly, only furthering Marco’s confusion. Promise? They had promised him something before they left?

He suddenly gasped, hands flying up to cover his mouth. “You mean?”

He smiled and nodded. “We did promise, didn’t we? When you’re feeling up to it, we’ll go someplace nice. Just the three of us, how’s that sound?”

Marco nodded excitedly, almost forgetting that his head was still in pain. Almost.

They left him to his momentary solitude, but he could hear the voices echoing from down the hall and he knew exactly what was coming next.

“Marcoooo!”

He heard Jean before he saw him, the young teen’s loud voice snaking its way into the room to announce its owner’s arrival. The blond practically launched himself into his chest, arms wrapped around his waist. He lingered there only briefly before pulling away to look Marco dead in the eyes. “If you _ever_ scare me like that again I swear to GOD if you’re not already dead I will kill you myself.”

Marco chuckled. “I’m afraid the accident already did part of that job for you. But you can call dibs on the other half.”

Jean glared, but couldn’t bring himself to be too mad at the halfa after all he’d been through. He pressed his forehead to his chest. “I was so worried. I thought you weren’t going to wake up,” he mumbled into the fabric of his shirt.

Marco brought his hand up to brush through the lighter part of his hair, teasing it gently. “I heard you fell asleep beside my bed.”

He shot up, nearly clocking the brunet in the chin, face bright red. “I said I was worried okay!” he snapped, though it lacked the intensity he was probably going for. “After that whole weird power thing you just… passed out. And you weren’t stirring at all, even after I got you back here. It was like you were in a coma.”

Marco frowned, remembering something he had wanted to ask the blond. “Jean. What happened after I fainted?”

He sighed, setting himself up at the edge of the bed. “I managed to pick you up and carry you over to where we were hiding before the guards could recover.”

“We?” he quickly interjected.

“Oh yeah! You wouldn’t know about that, huh? Sasha and Connie were with me. They somehow managed to figure out the truth on their own and wanted to help. Even came back with me when you were out, but they couldn’t stay long.” He paused to a moment to allow Marco to digest the information.

“Guess they noticed more than we gave them credit for.” It made it easier on him, he supposed. That was two of the four people he needed to tell his secret to taken care of. Now he just needed to work up the nerve to admit it to his parents…

Jean could only shrug. “Anyway, so they were there too. That’s how I got in; they provided the distraction and I got past with their uniform on. _Your_ uniform, actually.” He awkwardly rubbed at the back of his neck. “I kinda borrowed it.”

Ah. Marco had had a feeling it might’ve been his, but his mind had been preoccupied with more pressing matters at the time.

“So once we were all together, we got you up on Buchwald-“

“ _Buchwald_ was there too?!” Marco interrupted again.

The blond groaned. “Yes. I think he might’ve seen you get captured, because he tracked down Daz who told me what happened- before you ask, I don’t know how. Daz didn’t give me a straight answer. Buchwald carried me there and then took the both of us back before running off to wherever it is he hangs out all day. After that I just stayed here with you until your parents got back and they forced me to go lie down for a while.”

As he spoke, Marco noticed the dark rings forming under Jean’s eyes. He really had stayed up with him for God knows how long, just waiting for Marco to wake up before he’d dozed off himself.

He smiled. Honestly, this boy…

“Now I have a question for you.” Marco tilted his head, awaiting whatever inquiry he had. “Since when can you control the wind?!”

He should’ve realized that was coming. Marco shrugged, looking at the freckles on the back of his hands. “I have no idea. It just sorta happened- like an adrenaline rush. We were in trouble and it activated. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve discovered a new power like that,” he remarked, remembering how he had similarly triggered the ability to fire beams of energy from his hands.

“That is true… Okay then, but what about the wings?”

“Wings? What wings?”

What d’ya mean, ‘what wings’? The two giant ones that popped out of your back when you starting tossing air around! They looked just like the ones on your emblem.”

He shook his head, no recollection of this occurring. “I didn’t notice. To be honest, it felt like my body was moving on its own and I was just running on pure instinct.” The events of the last battle were pretty much a blur to Marco. He remembered the wind, he remembered using it to force people away and protecting Jean, but the details were sketchy at best.

“Well you did,” the blond said matter-of-factly. “And they were big and they were cool looking and I’m either psychic or your powers claimed that emblem somehow.”

“Probably the latter. You’re too bad at staying out of trouble to predict the future,” Marco laughed. They had changed the color of his uniform in the first place; it wasn’t a huge stretch to think they might have manifested the insignia on his back as an actual pair of wings. Made about as much sense as anything else related to his powers.

Jean scowled for a moment, but it soon melted to a dopey smile and he let out a small laugh of his own.

“What? What's so funny?”

“Nothing, just, I was totally right.” The look Marco adopted showed that he had no clue what Jean was getting at. Jean softened his expression even more. “You are a guardian angel.”

Marco frowned. Exactly who was the one who saved who from ending up on a metal table in some mad scientist’s lab? “A guardian angel who gets you in dangerous situations from trying to save him?”

“Well yeah! Granted, anyone else probably wouldn’t be too thrilled, but you wouldn’t be _my_ angel if stupid shit like that didn’t happen every now and again. Gotta keep things interesting somehow.”

The halfa shook his head, looking away. “I’m pretty sure that’s not how it’s supposed to work. At all. Like, if guardian angels had licenses, I’d probably lose mine.”

“Well too bad because I like it this way. We’ll just have to get you a fake license.”

Marco didn’t respond, glancing up. The purple plush bear still sat in its spot on the shelf, a reminder that Jean _wasn’t_ entirely insane and of the good he’s capable when he puts his powers to use.

He felt a hand cover his own and he looked down, taking in the contrast of his own, slightly tanner skin against Jean’s. “If it’s you, a little bit of danger’s totally worth it.”

Marco looked up again, at this golden-eyed boy with his fluffy blond hair and undercut who was willing to throw himself into the fangs of danger for him and stick by his side, no matter how difficult life got. This punkishly dressed, artistic, sci-fi loving nerd who he was so lucky to have in his life.

He freed his hands from Jean’s grasp and brought them up to either side of his angular face. “Thank you…” he whispered, brushing a thumb against his cheek. The blond stared, mouth agape, but before he could comment, Marco pulled him forward, capturing his lips.

Their second kiss was as brief as the first, but Marco didn’t pull back entirely, moving to rest their foreheads together. “And that’s for that stunt you pulled earlier,” he spoke against his lips.

Jean’s mouth hung open. “Marco… y-you… I… uh.”

He cut him off with a soft laugh. “I don’t know just yet, but it felt right. And I’m willing to figure this out if you are.”

Red-faced and unable to form a coherent sentence, Jean nodded dumbly and buried his face in Marco’s chest, arms wrapping around his waist again. He wasn’t sure if Jean had caught onto the deeper meaning of his words, but it didn’t really matter in that moment. He wrapped his own arms around Jean in turn and rested his chin atop soft hair.

They stayed like that for only a brief moment. Jean moved first, nudging Marco so he could shift his position. He brought their faces level, arms resting on Marco’s shoulders. The brunet’s unobstructed hands slid down, falling to Jean’s hips as he got accustomed the new, intimate air between them. It was… nice. A bit out of the ordinary for them, but he certainly didn’t mind this quieter, more emotional moment.

“You know, your lips were a lot warmer this time.”

_That_ was more like it.

“Oh my god, Jean! Way to kill the mood!” Marco groaned, shoving the blond away gently. He fell back, rolling to the free space on the other side of the bed.

“What? It’s true.” Jean propped himself up on an elbow, clearly unashamed of his bluntness.

“That’s what you get for kissing a ghost!” he huffed. “And you said you weren’t into that sort of thing.”

“ _Half_ ghost,” he corrected, grinning up at the elder. “Totally doesn’t count.”

Marco sighed into his palm. He took it back. He wasn’t lucky to have Jean in his life. Not at all.

“Well I have half a mind to make you fall through this bed right now.”

He stared at Marco in alarm. “You wouldn’t dare!”

The halfa chuckled to himself. “You’re right. Too much effort.” He yawned and leaned over to the side, laying his head on Jean’s chest. There was a second’s hesitation, then a hand was combing through his dark hair soothingly.

Marco let his eyes droop shut under the ministration, sighing contently. “Hey, Jean? What do you think’s going to happen with Sina? Am I just going to going to have to be on the lookout for them the rest of my life?” Even if Ralph was to be trusted that only a select few knew his secret, he doubted they would give up that easily. Surely there would be a time when they would pursue him again.

The hand in his hair froze. “Oh, shit! I didn’t tell you.”

“Tell me what?” He opened a single brown eye to gaze at the blond.

“I heard back from Krista while you were still out. She and Ymir are in charge of the place right now.”

“What!”

He looked down at him and nodded. “Yup. _And_ , turns out only a few people were even in on the whole plot to steal your ghost powers, and even fewer knew about the halfa situation. Apparently they were keeping _those_ details completely under wraps to avoid anyone who might’ve had some moral issues with it.”

So it hadn’t been a lie! Marco’s eyes widened. “So, does that mean?”

Jean grinned brightly. “You’re off the hook. They’re looking into a way to keep the people who knew from blabbing about you. For everyone else, Krista told them you were a friend. As far as they’re concerned, Trost-pera is off limits.”

“Oh my god, that’s awesome!” he beamed, so ecstatic that he could forgive the use of his hated nickname this one time. “Then everything’s back to normal. What about the shape-shifter though?”

“One of those scientists was controlling it, so they should either have it or know where it is. Either way it’s out of our hair.” The mentioning of the word hair seemed to remind him that Marco’s head was still in range and he returned to playing with the dark locks.

Marco fell into the touch, a content smile dancing on his lips. For the first time in a long while, he felt like he could actually rest without his conscious weighing down on him. The crisis had passed and he could breathe easy knowing that danger was no longer looming around the corner.

Now there was just one challenge left for him to tackle.

* * *

“I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I thought I could, but I can’t. I have fought nightmares, shape-shifters, and shadow beasts and  _this_ is still the scariest thing I’ve ever faced.”

Marco’s parents were in the living room, watching something on television, the sound drowning out the commotion coming from the hallway. That commotion just so happened to be Marco, who was hanging out just around the corner.

Hiding from them.

The time had come. He had to tell his parents exactly why they had rushed home, from a town nearly five hours away, to find their only child lying unconscious in his bed, his best friend at his side. However, to do that he had to start from the very beginning.

He had to tell them he was a halfa.

Jean sat opposite from him, arms propped up on his knees as he watched the brunet run through a continuous loop of psyching himself up, thinking carefully about exactly what he was preparing for, and then falling back into a state of panicking.

Okay, maybe panicking wasn’t the best word to describe what he was doing.

Having a small mental breakdown was probably more accurate.

Marco’s head thumped quietly against the wall and he sighed heavily.

“You know you’re gonna have to do it eventually,” Jean remarked.

“I know.” Marco groaned. He was going to do it. When his feet decided to no longer be rooted in place. “They were so worried- I can’t just leave them in the dark after that…”

“… _but_ ,” Jean started, knowing it was coming.

“But I don’t even know where to start!” His feet remembered how to move again, but the walk function had been replaced with pacing in circles in the narrow hall. “Am I supposed to just stroll in there and go ‘Hey Mom and Dad, remember that accident I was in a few months back? Well funny thing about that-“

“Marco…”

“-it turns out I _died.”_

“Marco.”

“Oh, but don’t worry, I’m only half ghost. Isn’t that just the most-‘“

“Marco you’re pacing up the wall again!”

He froze mid-step, bare toes a fraction of an inch from touching wallpaper. He was about halfway up when Jean stopped him, parallel to the floor. He blushed faintly and slowly backed up until both feet were on flat ground once more.

“Sorry,” the halfa mumbled.

Jean sighed and scratched the back of his head. “At least we know your powers recovered just fine.”

“Not helping…”

He scoffed. “Well what do you want me to do?” Marco stared at him for a moment before shrugging. Jean sighed again. “Come on, you can do this. Just pretend this is like any other battle, but you’re fighting with the truth instead of energy blasts!”

“Wow that makes everything _so_ much easier.”

He snickered at the disapproving glare Jean gave him and reached out to reclaim his hand. Their fingers had been entwined so often during the course of recent events that it almost felt unnatural not to have that palm pressing against his own.

“But you’re right. And I think I’ll be fine… as long as you’re there beside me.”

Jean made a sort of choking noise in the back on his throat and fixed his gaze on anything but Marco. His face was turning pink again. He may have instigated this whole thing by kissing Marco in the first place, but Jean was still as easy as ever to fluster- and he wasn’t even trying to this time.

“Well, come on then,” Jean grunted, using their connection to tug the halfa forward. “The sooner we get it over with the better.”

_We._ Marco chuckled silently. He supposed it was technically just as much Jean’s secret as it was his own. The blond had been there since the beginning, helping him along every step of the way; this was just another stair they had to climb.

The threshold to the living room was crossed, television still droning along as his parents remained temporarily unaware of the additions to the room.

Marco felt his throat tighten and he swallowed back his anxiety, replacing it with resolve. The time for secrets was over.

“Mom? Dad?”

They looked over at the sound of his voice. A brief glance was spared to their intertwined fingers, but not a single comment was made. Marco had a suspicion that they probably weren’t all too surprised.

“I’m sorry for causing you so much worry. I promise I’m fine and everything’s sorted out, but I know I can’t just pretend that things are back to normal, because they’re not. You knew something was going on with me and… I should have admitted to it a long time ago.”

This was it, the moment of truth. His parents had shut off the television once he’d started talking, giving him their full attention. Under their scrutiny he could feel his resolve wavering. The next thing out of his mouth would change everything forever. Was he truly ready for this?

Jean’s grasp on his hand tightened, reminding him that he wasn’t doing this alone, and he glanced back to become the recipient of a warm, encouraging smile. The blond dipped his head, urging him forward and Marco paused to take in a deep breath before turning back.

“When we were at the labs and you found me passed out with the locket in my hands, when all this weirdness started? Well, I didn’t really tell you the truth about what happened. Not entirely.”

Marco paused for a moment to collect his thoughts, lips curling up slightly as he thought back on how much has happened because of that singular moment in time.

“In fact… I’ve only told you half of it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue will be up hopefully tomorrow :3


	13. Epilogue: A New Start

Marco stood perched on the edge of a tall building, a good portion of the town laid out before him from the elevation. His eyes- or rather, eye- scanned vigilantly for any signs of potential threats, on the lookout for the odd fluctuations of color that came alongside the ghosts. Jean was sitting at his side, legs dangling over the edge and arguably far less vigilant in his own watch. Hey, not his fault he couldn’t see spectral auras.

The night wind whistled by, whipping through their hair and adding to the minimalistic nighttime soundtrack of owls, the occasional passing car, and Jean’s intermittent yawning.

Overall, it was chalking up to be a rather uneventful patrol.

Marco exhaled through his nostrils and took a seat beside Jean. He tapped the receiver on the headset he wore, opening up the channel feed. There was a buzzing in Jean’s ear as his own set responded to the action. “Still all clear on our end. How about you guys?”

A voice crackled in from the other end. _“I’m telling you it’s easy. You just pull back and-“_

_“Oi Sasha! Don’t aim that thing at me!”_

_“Oh relax. I’m not gonna hit you with it.”_

_“Somehow I don’t trust you.”_

Marco sighed impatiently. “Guys…”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got this,” Jean said, reaching over to pat Marco’s thigh, grinning as he did so. The halfa gave him a cautious glance and quickly pulled away the earpiece.

The younger of the two sucked in a deep breath.

“HEY! TWEEDLE DEE AND TWEEDLE DUM!”

His voice carried from their high vantage point and Marco was pretty sure anyone who might’ve been down below probably heard that.

Making sure the blond wasn’t about to scream into the mic again, Marco replaced his headset, just in time to catch the incoherent sputtering from the two on the other end.

 _“Are you **trying** to blow our eardrums out?!”_ Sasha screeched once they had composed themselves.

“Is everything still quiet where you are,” Jean coolly asked, ignoring her complaint entirely.

They could hear her low growl of frustration, but she answered the question anyway. _“Pretty much. There were a couple of wisps earlier, but nothing bigger than that.”_

“ _I have a question,”_ Connie said. They couldn’t see him, but his hand was probably in the air. _“Who’s Tweedle Dee and who’s Tweddle Dum?”_

“Who do you think, genius?”

Connie was silent as he thought it over. _“Marco, your boyfriend’s a douche,”_ he said after a while.

Marco chuckled lightly. “I know.”

“Hey!”

“Just keep us posted if you see anything,” Marco instructed and they both replied with a ‘Roger!’ He smiled to himself and turned back to Jean, who was now sitting with his arms crossed, frown set on his face.

“Well this is disappointing,” the blond commented.

Marco gave him an inquisitive look. “What, _not_ being busy? I would think you’d prefer not having ghosts breathing down your neck.”

“No, I mean…” He sighed, leaning back on his hands as he cast a pensive look to the sky. “I was hoping at least something interesting would happen. This is gonna be your last night here for a while and we’re just spending it up on a roof.”

A somber mood fell between them. That was right, tomorrow would signify the beginning of something that would have a huge impact on Marco’s future, though arguably not as huge as, say, becoming a halfa.

It still didn’t feel like that long since he’d first acquired his ghost powers and yet so much had changed. Not only were Sasha, Connie, and his parents in on the secret, but they were actually helping him out with the ghosts- his friends on the field and his parents from the lab. Plus he got to see his parents a lot more now that he was directly involved with their work. They supplied the teens with equipment, information, and whatever else facility had to offer and they went out and handled the dirty work.

It made life a hell of a lot easier for the halfa now that he had all the backup he could ever want. He finally relearned what it was like to get a full night’s rest, even if he found himself sharing a bed with a certain blond punk most nights.

He and Jean were still together and still going strong, and frankly no one had been surprised with their decision to start a romantic relationship or the overall success of said relationship. Their moms had even placed bets on who would act first- Isabella won; apparently both mothers were banking on their own son’s denseness in the ways of romance. The wager was now on who would be the one to propose. They weren’t sure who was betting on who.

Even the situation at Sina had changed. Krista and Ymir had basically run a coup d’etát, overthrowing the corrupt officials that had planned Marco’s initial capture so they could unlock the secret of becoming a halfa. Krista was now upholding a managerial position and his unfavorable encounters with Sina officials had declined ever since. He wasn’t sure exactly what they had done, or how his secret hadn’t spread, but Ymir’s manic grin whenever the topic was brought up always managed to discourage his curiosity. Some things were better off left a mystery.

It was startling just how different his life was from when he first came to Trost- from the day of the accident even!

And now two years later, here he was, about to head off for college.

Jean was still staring up at the sky, idly following the lazy clouds with a somber expression. Marco pushed himself off the ground so he could float over and place a hand on either side of the blond’s waist, smiling down at him.

“Hey, I’m spending my last night here with you, so that’s enough for me,” he assured, leaning forward to place a chaste kiss on his boyfriend’s lips.

_“Oh gross guys. Get a room.”_

Whoops. Didn’t quite turn that feed off.

“BYE!” Jean snapped, roughly jamming the button so that the headpiece pushed into his ear slightly. Marco laughed and reclaimed the spot by his side, Jean’s hand quickly seeking out his own. Their fingers laced, interlocking so perfectly, like they were meant to be there.

“I’m gonna miss you…” the blond admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

He held his hand tighter. “Hey, we’ll keep in touch. Everyday, I promise.”

Jean sneaked a shy peek over to him, but the smile Marco was giving him was so unabashedly bright that he couldn’t help but find it contagious.

“Good. I’ll be holding you to that.” He swung his legs over to solid ground so he could pull himself to his feet and held out a hand to Marco. “Wanna give up for the night? I know it’s still kind of early, but I think this is gonna be it.”

He thought about it for a moment, excepting Jean’s hand so he could pull him up. “Yeah, might as well. You’re probably right anyway. Just let me tell the others.”

The feed was opened again and Jean idly listened to Marco relay the plan to the other half of their group. The conversation was brief and he turned back to Jean when he cut off communications for the last time that night. “So, now what? Mom and Dad probably still have a few hours before they get back and I doubt I’m gonna get any sleep with my nerves.”

“Excited?”

Marco nodded. “And terrified at the same time. I haven’t been this nervous since I told my parents I was half ghost.”

Jean snorted in amusement. “Come on Marco, it’s you. Just try not to stress yourself out too much, and you’ll be fine.”

He glanced over, smiling. “You think so?”

“I _know_ so. Now come on, let’s get off this roof. I think I know the perfect way to spend the rest of the night.”

* * *

“Alright guys, are you _sure_ you can hold down the fort without me for a while?”

Marco turned to address the eccentric little trio that he spent most of his time with. Behind him his parents were packing the last of his things into the back of their minivan.

“Oh give us a break,” the lone female of the group commented, her arm resting on Connie’s shoulder. “We already do most of your patrol work for you these days. I think we can handle it without your help, _Trost-pera.”_

Marco groaned loudly. Two years later and they _still_ wouldn’t let go of the stupid nickname.

“Hey Marco, when you get there, you better make sure everyone knows you’re off the market.”

“Aw, is Jeannie worried about people trying to steal his man,” Connie teased, nudging the blond in the ribs.

“Hell yeah I am!” He shoved the shorter boy back gently before gesturing to Marco. “Do you not see what we’re dealing with here?”

The halfa blushed, running a hand through his now two-toned hair. As he aged, Marco’s ghost form had begun blending into his human appearance. The back edge of his hair, as well as the tips of his bangs had turned a silvery white. They often joked that the stress of dating Jean had grayed his hair early. The gray-purple of his right eye had also bled through, giving the appearance that he was blind in that eye- which he nearly was, to be honest. There was no point in trying to deny that fact even if the glasses helped. Jean absolutely loved his appearance though, occasionally reminding the halfa how gorgeous he was. Marco just thought he looked weird, but it was hard to be too self-conscious when Jean said stuff like that.

Still, he was pretty sure he was going to spend more time trying to justify his appearance to his new peers than shrugging off their advances.

“Come on, Marco. We’re all packed up!” his father called, waving from his position at the driver’s side door. He was going to be dropping him off on campus and then driving back. Isabella was staying behind so they had enough packing space, and was currently chatting with Jean’s mother.

His friends came up to receive their hugs in turn, leaving Jean for last. He lingered far longer than the other two, pulling Marco down for a loving kiss. Behind them, Sasha and Connie threw out various catcalls that the couple chose to ignore, far too used to their antics to care.

“You better keep that promise,” he mumbled against his lips as they separated.

Marco laughed. “Jean, you act like I’m going to another country. Stohess is only four hours away.” Jean glared at him, earning a light sigh from his boyfriend and a kiss on the forehead. “Honestly, like I’d honestly forget about you.”

“I know,” he chuckled. “It’ll just be weird, not having you around all of a sudden. We spend practically all of our time together that I don’t know what I’m gonna do without you- I feel like I’m losing my other half.”

“So I’m your other half now?” Marco teased, though the blush on his face revealed just how flattered he was by the notion.

“Well duh. Especially after last night,” he added slyly.

“ _Oh_ , what were _you_ two doing after patrol?” came Sasha’s teasing voice.

Marco went red, wishing that statement had been made a bit quieter. “Nothing! Nothing at all!” he said quickly, his hands leaving Jean’s waist to wave in a panicked manner.

Jean laughed and leaned up to give the taller boy a quick kiss on the lips. “I love you, Marco. I’m gonna miss you so much.”

He calmed down slightly, smiling fondly. “I love you too, Jean. And I’ll be back before you know it.”

Victor was calling for him again, so he reluctantly separated from his boyfriend and headed over to the van. Behind him he could hear the others pestering Jean for the details of this infamous ‘last night’.

“Jean I swear to god if you tell them I’m breaking up with you!” he called over his shoulder.

“No you won’t!” Jean retorted, calling the bluff.

Marco sighed in defeat and made a quick detour over to where Isabella and Adele were standing. He received hugs from the two mothers as he got close to them, alongside several well wishes and words of caution before they guided him over to the passenger’s side door. Victor was already behind the wheel, starting up the engine and Marco ducked in after him.

“You ready?” he asked as Marco was pulling down his seatbelt.

He paused for a moment, looking out the window to the people he was about to leave behind as he undertook this new journey in his life. The people who had stood by his side and given him so much support even when he hadn’t been entirely truthful with what he was going through.

And yet, in a way, he wasn’t leaving them at all. They were still here, giving him their support as they waved and wished him good luck. Jean even looked like he was about to cry, though he would never allow himself to with everyone around to see it. His mother actually _was_ crying, and Adele was there giving her reassuring pats on the back- no doubt this scenario would be reversed next year when Jean graduated.

Marco smiled, returning their waves through the window and leaned back in his seat. He thought back on how, two years ago, he’d wanted nothing more than to push them all away, as though that would’ve made everything easier. Where would he be now if he’d been successful in that endeavor? No, as long as he had everyone’s support, he would be fine.

He finished buckling his seatbelt and turned to face his father.

“Yeah, I think I am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man.
> 
> First off, thank you all for sticking around until the end. I loved working on this fic so much and I hoped you enjoyed it as much as I did.
> 
> Now, just because this is over, does that mean I'm done with this AU? Not at all! I'm going to take a break for a little while to gather ideas, but I'm planning for a sequel and you may see the occasional one-shot focusing on the side cast (and I'll still be posting art for this ever now and then).
> 
> But until then, if you want to talk to me about the AU or my future plans, or anything at all really, feel free to message me on my [tumblr](http://dei-ryuu.tumblr.com). I'd love to hear what you guys think and you can even bounce ideas off me for things you might like to see in a future installment.


End file.
